/Ujy~^ 


Cnr^ 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 


50 


!t  i 


M  ORDl  OF  m  CZAR. 


A     KOVlGI«. 


BY 

JOSEPH    HATTON, 
AufAor  of   '^ClytUr    ''Cruel   London:^    ''The     Great 

World,"  etc.,  etc. 


NEW  YORK 

JOHN  W.  LOVELL  COMPANY 
150  WoBTH  Street,  corner  Mission  Plac» 


•      •     I       < 


OoiTBieBT,  1800, 

nr 

JOHN    W.    LOVELL. 


INTRODUCTION. 


In  the  summer  of  1887  I  came  upon  a  pamphlet  pub- 
lished by  The  Times  five  years  previously,  giving  an  account 
of  the  persecution  of  the  Jews  in  Russia  in  188 1.  At  about 
the  same  time  I  found  in  the  Brooklyn  Times  (U.S.)  a 
tragic  incident  in  the  alleged  career  of  a  Jewess,  which 
recalled  to  my  mind  a  grim  passage  of  Russian  history. 
These  three  records  inspired  the  story  I  have  just  con- 
cluded. It  occurred  to  me  to  find  in  the  one  village  of 
Russia  where  the  Jews  had  for  a  time  lived  unmolested,  a 
heroine  who,  falling  under  the  lash  of  Russian  persecution, 
should  survive  the  keenest  of  human  afflictions,  to  become, 
under  very  dramatic  and  romantic  circumstances,  the  in 
strument  of  Divine  vengeance  upon  her  enemy,  and  proba- 
bly a  type  of  the  fierce  injustice  which  characterizes  the 
civil  and  military  government  of  Russia.  My  inspiration 
for  this  tragic  figure  sprung  from  the  following  narrative, 
related  as  absolutely  true  by  Charles  J.  Rosebault,  in  the 
Brooklyn  Times  during  the  month  of  June,  1887  : — 

**  Not  far  from  the  police  station  on  Elizabeth-street  is  a  large  three- 
storey  brick  building.  Years  ago  it  was  a  handsome  dwelling,  but  time 
and  the  small  boy  have  played  havoc  with  its  facade,  doors,  windows, 
and  railing.  It  is  occupied  by  a  well-to-do  Russian,  who  years  ago 
fled  hi&  native  land  for  alleged  complicity  in  some  plot  against  the 


h  INTRODUCTION. 

Czar.  It  has  long  been  the  rendezvous  of  political  refugees  of  both 
sexes,  Russians,  Nihilists,  Polish  Liberators,  French  Communards, 
German  Socialists,  -and  Cosmopolitan  Anarchists.  The  circle  met  there 
is  composed  of  educated  and  clever  people.  Nearly  all  are  excellent 
linguists,  and  more  or  less  successful  in  trade,  literature,  or  professional 
life.  Owing  probably  to  the  terrible  scenes  in  which  they  have  been 
actors,  all  are  more  or  less  eccenlric  in  behavior,  speech,  or  ideas.  Not 
long  since  a  party  of  a  dozen  men  and  women  were  spending  the  even* 
ing  in  the  large  old-fashioned  parlcr.  All  smoked,  a  few  sipped  the 
vitriolic  Vodka  between  the  whiffs  of  their  cigarettes,  while  all  the  rest 
assuaged  thirst  with  the  cheap  wines  of  the  Rhine  and  Moselle.  The 
conversation  had  been  political  and  literary  rather  than  anecdotal  in 
character,  and  bad  flagged  until  the  room  was  almost  silent.  The  only 
person  speaking  was  a  handsome  Jewess  of  24  or  25,  whose  name  or 
nam  de  gutrre  was  Theodora  Ornavitsch.  She  was  of  a  rare  type  o| 
that  race,  being  a  superb  blonde  with  bright  golden  hair,  large  lustrous 
blue  eyes,  and  exhibiting  the  powerful  figure  and  splendid  health  which 
characterize  the  Hebrew  women  to  so  remarkable  a  degree.  As  she 
paused  at  the  end  of  an  argument  and  drained  a  glass  of  Josephshoefen 
some  one  asked,  '  What  made  you  a  Nihilist,  Dora  ?  ' 

"  *  Nothing  very  remarkable  to  us  Russians,'  she  replied.  '  I  belong 
to  a  good  family  in  a  smaH  town  in  the  Warsaw  Province.  I  married 
the  Rabbi  of  our  Synagogue,  and  we  were  very  happy  for  a  few  months. 
The  Czar  then  made  a  change,  and  sent  down  a  new  governor  from 
St.  Petersburg  to  replace  our  old  one,  who  was  a  good  and  just  man, 
although  a  Russian  general.  The  new  comer  had  every  vice,  and  no 
virtue  of  any  kind.  He  was  so  bad  and  cruel  that  our  friends  and 
relatives  wrote  us  when  he  came  warning  us  against  him.  My  husband 
the  next  Sabbath,  in  the  Synagogue,  told  our  people  about  him,  and 
advised  them  to  be  over  cautious  in  not  violating  any  one  of  the  thou- 
sand tyrannical  laws  with  which  we  were  cursed.  Though  he  spoke  in 
Hebrew,  for  fear  of  spies,  someone  betrayed  him  to  the  governor.  He 
was  arrested,  tried,  flogged  on  the  public  square  into  insensibility,  and 
sent  to  Siberia  for  life.  I  was  present  when  he  underwent  his  agony, 
and  stood  it  until  I  became  crazed.  I  broke  through  the  crowd  toward 
the  wretch  of  an  official,  and  cursed  him  and  his  master,  the  Czar,  and 
swore  vengeance  against  both.  I,  too,  was  arrested,  tried  at  court- 
martial,  and  sentenced  to  receive  a  hundred  blows  with  the  rod  in  the 
public  square.  I,  a  woman,  was  taken  by  drunken  Moujiks  and  hea- 
then  Cossacks  to  the  place,  tied  by  my  hands  to  the  whipping  post,  my 
clothing  torn  Arom  my  body  to  the  waist,  and  beaten  before  all  the 


INTRODUCTION.  ♦» 

soldiery  and  the  people  of  the  town.  At  the  twentieth  blow  I  fainted, 
but  the  ropes  held  me  up,  and  the  full  hundred  were  counted  on  my 
body.  They  cut  me  down,  rubbed  rock  salt  and  water  and  tome  iron 
that  eats  like  fire  into  my  back  to  stop  the  bleeding,  and  carried  me  to 
the  hospital.  1  lay  there  two  months,  and  was  discharged.  I  had 
but  one  idea  then,  and  that  was  vengeance.  By  patience  I  managed  to 
get  employment  in  the  governor's  palace  as  a  seamstress.  One  after- 
noon he  was  in  his  bath,  and  he  sent  for  towels.  The  attendant  was 
tired,  and  I  volunteered  to  take  them.  I  threw  them  over  my  arm,  and 
under  them  I  held  a  long  stiletto,  sharp  as  a  needle.  I  entered  the 
room,  and  he  was  reading  and  smoking  in  the  bath.  I  laid  the  towels 
by  his  side  with  my  left  hand,  and  at  the  next  moment  with  my  right  I 
drove  the  knife  through  his  heart.  It  was  splendidly  done.  He  never 
made  a  sound,  and  I  escaped  to  this  land.  That  is  why  I  am  a  Nihilist : 
Do  any  of  you  doubt  ?  '  She  sprang  excitedly  from  her  chair,  and  in 
half  a  minute  had  bared  herself  to  the  waist.  The  front  of  her  form  from 
neck  to  belt  might  have  passed  as  the  model  of  the  Venus  di  Milo.  But 
the  back  I  Ridges,  welts,  and  furrows  that  crossed  and  interlaced  as  if. 
cut  out  with  a  red-hot  iron,  patches  of  white,  grey,  pink,  blue,  and 
angry  red,  holes  and  hollows  with  hard,  hideous  edges,  half  visible  ribs 
and  the  edges  of  ruined  muscles,  and  all  of  which  moved,  contracted, 
and  lengthened  with  the  swaying  of  her  body.  There  was  a  gasp  frura 
everyone  present.  The  aged  host  rose,  silently  kissed  her  on  the 
forehead,  and  helped  her  to  put  back  her  garments.  Then  again  the 
wine  passed  round,  and  what  secret  toasts  were  made  as  the  party  drank 
will  never  be  known . " 

The  historic  chapter  which  this  newspaper  paragraph 
brought  to  my  mind  was  the  story  of  Madame  Lapoukin ; 
the  briefest  account  of  which  is  probably  the  following, 
from  The  Knout ^  by  Germain  de  Lagny  : — 

In  1760,  under  the  reign  of  the  indolent  and  luxurious  Elizabeth, 
who  had  abolished  capital  punishm.nt,  Madame  Lapoukin,  a  woman 
of  rare  beauty,  of  whic|^  the  Czarina  was  envious,  was  condemned  to 
the  knout  and  transportation,  in  spite  of  the  privilege  of  the  nobility 
never  to  suffer  the  former  punishment.  She  had  been  fited,  caressed, 
and  run  after  at  court,  and  had,  it  was  said,  betrayed  the  secret  of  the 
Empress'  liaison  with  Prince  Razoumowsky.  She  was  conducted  by 
the  executioners  to  the  public  square,  where  she  was  exposed  by  009  of 


«|  INTRODUCTION, 

them,  who  rolled  up  her  chetnise  m  far  as  her  waist ;  he  then  placed 
her  upon  his  shoulders,  when  another  arranged  her  with  Ms  coarse  dirty 
hands  in  the  required  position,  obliging  her  to  hold  her  head  down, 
while  a  man  of  the  lower  classes,  squatting  at  her  feet,  kept  her  legs 
still.  The  executioner  cut  her  flesh  into  shreds  by  one  hundred 
strokes  of  the  knout,  from  the  shoulders  to  the  lower  portion  of  the 
loins.  After  the  infliction  of  the  punishment,  her  tongue  was  torn  out, 
and  a  short  time  subsequently  she  was  sent  to  Siberia,  whence  she  was 
recalled  in  176a  by  Peter  III. 

For  the  successful  development  of  these  journalistic 
literary  and  historical  facts  and  suggestions  into  a  full 
three  volume  novel,  with  truthful  as  well  as  characteristic 
accessories,  it  was  necessary  that  I  should  make  a  study 
of  Russian  village  life,  and  refresh  my  memory  with  such 
chapters  of  Russian  history  as  should  enable  me  to  hold 
my  imaginary  characters  and  their  actions  within  the  rea- 
sonable control  of  probability.  I  was  already  fairly  well 
acquainted  with  some  of  the  bestworksof  Russian  fiction, 
which  are  full  of  strong  local  color  and  fine  characterization, 
Gogol's  stories  more  particularly,  but  in  order  that  I  might 
not  stray  from  the  path  of  truth  any  further  than  is  rea- 
sonably permissible,  I  followed  up  the  narrative  of  The 
Times ^  in  the  files  of  the  Daily  Telegraph  and  i\\t  Jewish 
Chronicle;  traced  the  anti-Jewish  riots  throughout  their 
lurid  march  of  fire  and  bloodshed ;  talked  to  several  traveled 
authorities  as  to  their  experiences  of  Jewish  life  in  South- 
era  Russia ;  and  settled  down  to  a  careful  study  of  the 
literary,  topographical,  political  and  historical  literature  of 
the  subject,  in  the  course  of  which,  for  the  purposes  of  this 
story,  I  have  consulted  and  read:  "  The  Jews  and  their 
Persecutors,"  by  Eugenie  Lawrence  ;  j'  Scenes  from  the 
Ghetto,"  by  Leopold  Kompert;  "The  Knout  and  the 
Russians,"  by  Germain  de  Lagny  j  "  Elizabeth,  or  the 
Exiles  of  Siberia,"  by  Madame  Cottin  ;  "  Russia  under  the 
Czars,"  by  Stepniak;  "  Prison  Life  in  Siberia  "  and  *'  Crime 
and  Punishment,"  by  Fedor  Dostoiffsky  j  "  The  Russian 


INTRODVCTIOff,  vll 

Revolt,"  by  Edmund  Noble  ;  "  The  Jews  of  Barnow,"  by 
Karl  Emil  Franzos  ;  "  Russia,  Political  and  Social,"  by  L. 
Tikhanirov  ;  "  Called  Back,"  by  Hugh  Conway  ;  "  Dead 
Souls,"  by  Nikolai  V.  Gogol;  "War  and  Peace,"  and 
"  Anna  Karenina,"  by  Count  Tolstoi ;  "  A  Hero  of  our 
Time,"  by  M.  V.  Lermontoff;  "Russia  before  and  after 
the  War,"  by  the  Author  of  "  Society  as  it  is  in  St.  Peters- 
burg," "  The  Encyclopaedia  Britannica,"  "  Russians  of  To- 
day," by  the  Author  of  *'  The  Member  for  Paris  ; "  "  The 
Russian  Peasantry,"  by  Stepniak  ;  "  Stories  from  Russia, 
Siberia,  Poland  and  Circassia,"  edited  by  Russell  Lee ; 
*♦  Chambers'  Encyclopaedia  ; "  George  Kennan's  Century 
papers  on  *•  Plains  and  Prisons  of  Western  Siberia,"  and 
"  Across  the  Russian  Frontier ; "  Theodore  Child's  "  Fair 
of  Nijnii-Novogorod  "  in  Harper's  Magazine;  The  Times 
pamphlet  (before  mentioned),  "  Persecutions  of  the  Jews  in 
Russia,  1881 ; "  "  Venice,"  by  Yriarte ;  "  Venetian  Life,"  by 
Howells  j  "  Sketches  from  Venetian  History ; "  "  New  Ita- 
lian Sketches,"  by  J.  A.  Symonds,  and  other  miscellanous 
literature.  It  will  be  seen  that  I  name  these  works  without 
any  view  to  classification  or  order.  A  foreign  criticism 
upon  the  Venetian  chapter  of  the  story  makes  it  desirable 
for  me  to  state  that  the  introduction  of  a  Russian  interest 
in  the  Royal  F6tes  on  the  Grand  Canal  is  pure  invention. 
The  pageantry  is  true  enough  ;  the  presence  of  the  King 
and  Queen  of  Italy  ;  the  illumination  and  the  rest ;  but 
the  red  gondola  and  the  ghost  of  the  lagoons  belong  to  the 
region  of  fancy ;  though  they  might  easily  have  formed 
part  of  the  events  of  the  time.  I  saw  a  dead  swimmer 
towed  into  an  English  fishing  port  under  very  similar  cir- 
cumstances to  those  which  I  have  described  as  occurring 
in  the  waters  of  the  Adriatic. 

With  all  due  apologies  for  this  personal  note,  I  venture 
to  express  a  hope  that  my  readers  may  feel  an  interest  in 
the   Milbankes,  the  Forsyths,  the  Ghfttwynds,  and  the 


via  INTRODUCTION. 

Klosstocks.  If  I  shall  make  these  people  half  as  real  to 
them  as  they  are  to  me,  they  will  keep  them  in  their 
remembrance  as  acquaintances,  if  not  as  friends ;  and  in 
reflective  moments  their  hearts  will  go  out  to  an  old  man 
and  his  daughter  who  in  the  spirit  of  chastened  content 
are  fulfilling  their  voluntary  exile,  their  happiness  a  dream 
of  the  past,  their  chief  hope  in  a  future  "  where  the  wicked 
cease  from  troubling  and  the  weary  are  at  rest." 

J.  H« 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   KLOSSTOCKS. 

She  might  have  sat  to  Titian,  as  the  lovely  (laughter  of  a 
Doge  of  Venice  in  the  romantic  days  of  Christian  chivalry  ; 
and  yet  she  was  only  the  daughter  of  a  Polish  Jew,  and 
lived  on  sufferance  in  the  Russian  village  of  Czarovna. 

The  God  of  Jew  and  Gentile  alike  is  kind  in  hiding  from 
all  His  creatures  the  book  of  Fate,  otherwise  Anna  Kloss- 
tock  might  have  cursed  the  hour  in  which  she  was  bom. 
Nevertheless  at  the  opening  of  this  history  we  find  her 
rejoicing  in  her  life,  and  grateful  to  her  Creator  for  the 
exceptional  blessings  with  which  her  girlhood  was  endowed. 
She  had — above  all  things  desired  of  woman — the  gift  of 
beauty;  and  as  there  is  no  beauty  without  health.  Provi- 
dence had  blessed  her  with  a  physical  capacity  for  enjoy- 
ment, and  an  intellectuality  beyond  that  which  as  a  rule 
accompanies  the  comely  attraction  of  good  looks. 

Indeed,  at  the  beginning  of  this  story  of  persecution, 
love  and  vengeance,  it  might  have  seemed  to  the  optimis- 
tic philosopher  that  Fate  had  gone  down  into  the  lowliest 
walks  of  life  to  prove  the  equality  of  the  general  distribu- 
tion of  happiness,  and  that  Anna  Klosstock  had  been 
selected  as  an  example  of  the  divine  impartiality.  For 
although  Anna  lived  only  in  the  shadow  of  liberty,  she 
had  never  known  what  its  sunshine  is,  and  in  her  captivity 
was  a  queen — the  elect  of  every  man,  woman  and  child  of 


4  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

the  community  in  which  she  was  born.  It  is  true  her  sub- 
jects were  a  despised  race,  but  the  Ghetto  or  Pale  of 
Settlement  in  the  populous  village  of  Czarovna  was  the 
most  contented,  the  happiest,  the  most  flourishing  of  the 
Jewish  towns  of  Southern  Russia ;  so  much  so,  indeed, 
that  instead  of  encouraging  the  Imperial  Government  to 
persevere  in  a  policy  of  liberality  towards  both  Jew  and 
Gentile,  it  had  more  than  once  excited  the  suspicion,  fear, 
and  duplicity  of  the  reigning  powers.  At  Czarovna  both 
Jew  and  Christian  lived  on  fairly  amicable  terms.  The 
Governor,  General  Ivan  Poltava,  credited  the  peace  of  it 
to  the  exceptional  liberality  of  the  merchant,  Nathan 
Klosstock,  Anna's  father;  but  General  Poltava  was  as 
great  a  rarity  of  honesty  in  the  administration  of  his  office 
as  Nathan  Klosstock  was  of  generosity  in  a  Jew  merchant. 
Were  there  more  of  such  there  would  be  fewer  troubles  in 
the  land;  though  neither  Russian  Imperial  policy  nor  the 
local  Hebrew  education  tend  to  develop  just  and  upright 
governors,  or  fair-dealing  and  high-minded  Jewish  sub- 
jects. 

Czarovna  was  an  example  of  how  possible  it  is,  even 
under  the  grinding  laws  of  Russia,  for  a  community  of 
mixed  nationalities  and  alien  races  to  live,  if  not  in  har- 
mony, at  least  without  the  miseries  of  a  perpetual  feud ; 
but  there  was  an  unusual  principle  of  give  and  take  on 
both  sides  between  the  Jews  and  Christians  of  this  excep- 
tional village  in  the  province  of  Vilnavitch. 

If  the  Jews  in  Russia  are  tainted  with  the  worst  charac- 
teristics of  the  race,  their  grasping  and  dogmatic  idiosyn- 
crasies are  the  result  of  a  systematic  and  cruel  persecution. 
The  conditions  under  which  they  exist  are  miserable  beyond 
all  imagination.  They  suffer  again  the  persecutions  of 
Egypt,  without  the  hope  or  prospect  of  deliverance.  The 
Imperial  legislation  of  St.  Petersburg  seems  to  aim  at 
nothing  ^hort  of  their  annihilation.     They  are  legislated 


^y  OkDEk  OP  7 HE  CZAR,  ,| 

for  as  if  they  were  a  criminal  class — condemned  to  pass 
their  lives  in  circumscribed  districts.  The  ancient  Ghetto 
of  the  Middle  Ages  exists  for  them  in  some  districts  of 
Russia  with  all  its^  penal  severities.  I'hey  may  not  own 
an  inch  of  Russian  land  ;  they  may  only  occupy  themselves 
in  certain  limited  licensed  businesses  ;  they  are  compelled 
at  intervals  to  present  themselves  at  certain  official  stations 
for  the  purpose  of  reporting  themselves  and  renewing  their 
passports ;  they  are  open  to  insult  and  derision  at  the 
hands  of  any  Christian  who  chooses  morally  and  physically 
to  wipe  his  feet  upon  them.  Nevertheless,  as  a  class,  they 
succeed  in  ekeing  out  an  existence  and  maintaining  a  reli- 
gious independence  with  an  obstinacy  that  is  little  less  than 
miraculous.  The  intensity  of  iheir  application  to  the  art 
of  money-making  also  develops,  even  under  the  severest 
conditions,  a  moneyed  class.  In  every  village  there  is  at 
least  one  rich  Jew — a  local  Shylock — who  lends  money  at 
usury,  buys  up  or  mortgages  the  crops  of  his  urban  neigh- 
bor, rents  some  noble's  distillery,  controls  the  taverns,  and 
commands  from  his  co-religionists  the  respect  which  is 
denied  him  by  his  Christian  fellow-subjects.  The  child  of 
a  thousand  years  of  ill-treatment,  it  is  not  to  be  expected 
that  he  will  deal  any  more  charitably  with  the  Christian 
than  the  Christian  deals  with  him.  If  the  Christian  despises 
him,  be  sure  he  hates  the  Christian  with  a  deadly  hatred. 
Should  his  child,  under  the  milder  influence  of  Christian 
precepts,  give  way  to  a  proselytizing  influence,  she  or  he 
is  considered  dead  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  the  bitter 
feeling  going  so  far  as  to  comprehend  a  funeral  service, 
with  an  empty  coffin  and  a  cemetery  record.  There  is  no 
forgiveness  for  the  deserter  among  the  Russian  Jews. 

Nathan  Klosstock  would  probably  have  resented  as 
fiercely  as  Shylock  himself  the  defection  of  his  only  daugh- 
ter Anna,  although  in  his  financial  reign  at  Czarovna  he 
had  won  the  title  among  the  better  class  of  Christians  of  a 


%  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZaR. 

liberal  Jew.  Under  the  unusually  mild  governorship  of 
General  Poltava  the  strict  limits  of  the  Ghetto  had  been 
practically  wiped  out.  The  mayor  of  the  little  town,  being 
particularly  anxious  to  stand  well  with  the  General,  who 
lived  in  an  old  palace  on  the  uplands  overlooking  the 
straggling  village,  acted  with  an  outward  show  of  sympa- 
thy for  the  Governor's  mild  and  beneficent  edicts. 

Czarovna  chiefly  consisted  of  one  long  broad  street,  with 
houses  ana  shops  in  a  strange  picturesque  jumble,  a  fine 
church,  and  in  this  case  a  more  or  less  dilapidated  palace 
on  the  outskirts,  in  which  the  Governor  (who  in  this 
instance  also  exercised  authority  over  much  of  the  sur- 
rounding district,  with  the  approval  of  the  Governor- 
General  of  the  vast  province  of  Vilnavitch)  resided,  and 
the  barracks  where  there  were  generally  quartered  a  troop  of 
Hussars.  At  the  northern  end  of  the  town,  creeping  up 
from  the  rocky  bed  of  the  river,  that  wound  its  way  into 
the  distant  forest,  was  the  Jewish  quarter,  which  even  in 
this  exceptional  district  considered  it  necessary  to  put  on 
an  outward  appearance  of  poverty  in  keeping  with  tradition, 
but  which  had  many  contrary  examples  to  show  to  those 
who  excited  in  them  no  dread  of  plunder. 

The  house  of  Moses  Grunstein,  for  instance,  externally 
looked  what  it  professed  to  be,  the  abode  and  warehouse 
of  a  struggling  trader  and  merchant,  who  found  it  difficult 
to  make  both  ends  meet ;  but  in  reality  it  was  in  its  way  a 
palace,  with  a  subterranean  annex,  that  was  one  of  the 
m)rsteries  of  Czarovna,  and  its  owner's  particular  and 
special  secret.  Nathan  Klosstock,  however,  made  but 
little  disguise  of  his  prosperity,  for  he  believed  no  one 
grudged  him  his  wealth,  because  he  made  good  use  of  it, 
and  was  as  generous  as  any  Christian  could  possibly  be, 
and  far  more  so  than  many  really  were.  But  the  native 
who  lives  in  the  track  of  the  tornado  grows  accustomed  to 
danger.     People  live  without  fear  beneath  the  shadow  of 


,  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  f 

Vesuvius.  Every  man  is  mortal  but  oneself.  There  might 
be  troubles  in  other  villages  of  Southern  Russia,  but  to 
Nathan  Klosstock  Czarovna  was  safe.  Life  is  a  matter  of 
habit ;  one  may  become  used  to  anything.  Happiness  is 
a  question  of  comparison.  A  prisoner  having  been  sub- 
ject to  a  severe  discipline  is  awakened  one  morning  with 
the  companionship  of  his  dog ;  in  future  he  is  to  have 
books,  there  is  a  jar  of  flowers  in  his  cell,  he  may  take 
exercise,  and  he  is  to  suffer  no  more  hard  labor  :  he  thinks 
himself  the  happiest  man  in  the  world.  Nathan  Klosstock, 
though  recognized  in  a  friendly  way  by  the  Governor,  had 
to  cringe  and  grovel  before  the  great  landlords,  and  he 
dared  not  resent  the  bold  looks  and  insolent  compliments 
which  were  now  and  then  paid  to  Anna  by  some  of  his 
noble  patrons.  But  oh,  my  brethren,  to.  what  i  gulf  of 
misery  and  death  he  was  walking  all  this  time,  he  and  his ! 
— the  way  strewn  with  flowers,  as  if  to  enhance  the  horrors 
of  the  impending  gulf — walking  hand  in  hand  to  the  music 
of  their  own  grateful  hearts,  at  which  every  fiend  in  hell 
might  have  laughed,  so  grim,  so  awful  was  the  pit  that 
Fate  had  cast  in  their  way. 

During  some  years  past  a  few  of  the  later  generations 
of  Jews  had  ventured,  with  proper  authorization,  to  live 
in  the  town  proper  and  its  outskirts,  where  they  could  see 
the  sky  and  have  the  privilege  here  and  there  of  something 
like  rural  occupation.  There  were  troubles  now  and  then 
with  such  of  these  as  the  Governor  permitted  to  hold 
taverns  or  public-houses,  and  it  was  no  doubt  a  legitimate 
complaint  on  the  part  of  the  poorer  class  of  farmers  that 
these  miserable  Jews,  having  lent  money  to  the  even  more 
miserable  mujiks,  encouraged  them  to  drink  and  spend 
the  money  they  had  borrowed.  But  whenever  anything 
like  a  serious  situation  was  developed  in  this  direction 
Nathan  Klosstock  came  forward  and  settled  it.  He  had 
also  propitiated  the  few  nobles  and  better  class  of  land 


$  Br  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

cultivators  in  the  province,  by  fair  and  honorable  advances 
of  money,  at  fair  and  honorable  rates.  He  was  the  general 
merchant  of  the  district,  dealing  in  everything  ;  was  a  ship- 
ping agent,  importing  goods  from  almost  every  part  of  the 
world  ;  w^as  a  pleasant,  hearty,  genial,  fairly  educated  man, 
and  had  induced  the  young  raobi  Marcus  Losinski,  of  St. 
Petersburg,  to  take  up  his  residence  as  the  Chief  Rabbi  at 
Czarovna.  Klosstock's  house  was  the  Mecca  of  many 
traveling  pedlars,  students,  and  beggars.  He  was  known 
throughout  all  the  lands  where  Jews  are  known.  His  wife 
during  her  short  lifetime  had  been  worthy  of  his  fame,  and 
his  daughter  Anna  was  a  lovely  type  of  Semitic  beauty, 
with  a  gr^ce  of  manner  that  was  eminently  in  keeping  with 
the  name  she  bore. 

The  Rlosstocks  lived  at  the  very  entrance  to  the  Ghetto, 
where  in  olden  days  the  gates  that  had  shut  in  the  narrow 
streets  of  the  despised  community  had  swung  night  and 
morning  upon  their  grating  hinges,  to  the  order  of  the 
hostile  guardian  whom  the  Jews  themselves  had  to  pay 
for  exercising  his  barbaric  authority  over  them.  It  was 
an  unpretentious  house,  though  somewhat  glaringly  paint- 
ed; a;id  it  served  as  shop,  counting-house,  office,  museum, 
and  living  apartments,  where  Klosstock's  forefathers  had 
founded  the  little  fortune  which  had  prospered  in  the 
hands  of  their  now  aged  son. 

It  was  after  a  visit  to  the  province  of  Vilnavitch,  and  a 
pleasant  call,  en  route,  at  the  house  of  Klosstock,  that 
Nathan  had  induced  the  young  and  distinguished  rabbi  to 
accept  the  vacancy  at  Czarovna.  Not  that  the  rich  Jew 
had  given  his  daughter  to  Losinski,  as  he  might  have  done, 
but  he  had  promised  him  that  if  he  should  find  favor  in 
Anna's  eyes  the  betrothal  should  take  place  as  soon  as 
possible.  Anna  had  already  received  much  more  than  the 
•  customary  tuition  which  the  Jews  of  her  father's  class 
permit  to  their  daughters.     She  could  speak  German,  had 


Sr  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  ^ 

a  fair  knowledge  of  French,  was  almost  learned  in  Biblical 
lore,  and  had  the  natural  taste  of  her  race  for  music.  Her 
voice  and  her  lute  were  heard  at  the  Jewish  festivals,  and 
her  charities  might  have  won  the  commendation  of  the 
strictest  worshippers  of  that  Messiah  for  whom  her  race 
suffer  still  under  the  ban  of  having  crucified. 

Marcus  Losinski,  coming  to  take  charge  of  the  morals 
and  religion  of  the  Jews  of  Czarovna,  was  to  Anna  a  pil- 
grim of  light  from  the .  outer  world.  He  was  wiser  than 
his  years ;  had  traveled  through  the  East,  even  to  Jerusa- 
lem. He  could  tell  her  of  the  wonders  of  the  great 
capitals.  He  had  fulfilled  missions  to  Paris  and  London, 
although  he  was  only  some  ten  or  fifteen  years  her  senior. 

No  queen  could  have  held  Losinski  in  a  firmer  allegiance 
of  love  and  worship  than  Anna  the  Queen  of  the  Ghetto. 

"'  It  is  accounted  a  sin  among  the  Christians,"  he  had 
one  day  said  to  her,  "  to  love  even  maid  or  wife  beyond 
the  man  they  have  made  their  God ;  and  I  am  glad  to 
have  been  born  a  Jew,  Anna,  if  it  were  only  to  be  untram- 
meled  by  law,  human  or  divine,  in  my  love  for  you." 

**  Do  you  not  think,"  Anna  replied,  "  that  God's  laws 
are  as  easy  as  man's  are  difficult. 

"  Yes,  Anna,  truly  I  do.  Religion  lies  not  in  law  nor  in 
knowledge,  but  in  a  pure  and  holy  life." 

**  And  yet,  dear  love,"  said  Anna,  "  I  sometimes  think 
you  chafe  here  in  Czarovna,  and  long  for  a  wider  sphere  of 
usefulness." 

"  It  is  not  so,  Anna.  My  ambition  is  satisfied  to  be 
with  you,  whatever  my  sphere  of  work ;  but  sometimes  I 
wonder  if  it  were  not  wise  to  leave  this  land  of  doubt  and 
fear,  and  travel  further  afield  where  our  people  are  not  ever- 
lastingly within  the  clutch  of  tyranny  and  abuse,  where 
indeed  they  are  safe  from  public  persecution  and  private 
contumely." 

"  Ah,  you  envy  Andrea  Ferrari,"  Anna  replied.     "  You 


10  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

would  like  to  go  up  and  down  the  world  as  he  docs,  see- 
ing fresh  peoples,  noting  the  wonders  of  strange  lands." 

"  Nay ;  I  have  seen  much  of  the  great  world,  Anna. 
My  only  desire  is  to  be  sure  that  your  future  shall  be  as 
happy  as  your  past ;  that  neither  you  nor  your  father  may 
ever  be  the  victims  of  some  sudden  change  of  policy  on 
the  part  of  the  Government.  For  myself,  my  life  is 
nothing  to  me  if  it  brings  no  special  good  to  you.  Mar- 
tyrdom in  such  a  cause  would  be  happiness." 

"  You  are  sad  ! "  Anna  said  quickly.  "  Do  not  talk  of 
martyrdom  ;  you  make  my  heart  stand  still.  What  mar- 
tyrdom, dear  love,  could  there  possibly  be  for  you  in  my 
behalf?" 

"  None  that  would  be  martyrdom,"  said  Losinski. 
"  But  how  do  we  come  to  be  talking  in  such  a  doleful 
strain  ?  Forgive  me,  Anna,  Ferrari  comes  to  your  father's 
house  presently.  I  met  him  an  hour  ago  at  the  barber's. 
He  is  particular  about  his  toilette  when  he  comes  to  see 
the  Queen  of  the  Ghetto.' 

"He  is  very  welcome,"  said  Anna.  "  Is  he  net  some- 
thing like  the  dove  returning  to  the  ark  with  news  of  the 
outer  world  ?  There  are  no  books  of  travel  so  interesting 
as  the  travelers  themselves." 

"  For  which  sentiment,"  said  a  voice  in  the  doorway, 
"  I  return  you  my  best  thanks  ;  and  I  believe,  if  I  am  not 
considered  too  egotistical,  that  I  am  of  your  opinion. 

"Ah,  Signor  Ferrari,"  exclaimed  Anna,  rising,  "wel- 
come ;  it  is  true  we  were  talking  of  you." 

"  Again  gcod-day  to  you,"  said  Losinski.  "  Anna  find- 
ing me  in  a  doleful  mood  began  to  talk  of  you ;  I  hope 
you  will  make  us  merry." 

"  That  must  be  our  duty  to  Andrea,"  remarked  Nathan, 
the  master  of  the  house,  who  had  entered  the  room  with 
the  traveler  ;  "  our  guest  has  journeyed  far  and  wants  rest 
and  refreshment.     He  reserves  for  after  dinner  his  news 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  \t 

and  gossip — and  he  has  news  that  is  not  altogether  good, 
he  says ;  so  let  us  eat,  drink  and  be  merry,  for  the  present 
is  ours,  and  who  knows  aught  of  the  morrow  ?  Come, 
Anna,  be  of  good  cheer." 

"  Nay,  I  am,  dear  father ;  and  our  good  friend  Signor 
Ferrari  shall  tell  us  of  his  city  in  the  sea.  That  will  make 
him  happy,  and  we  will  share  his  joy.  You  have  only 
good  news  from  Venice  ?  " 

"  None  other,  dear  mistress,"  the  Italian  replied ; 
"  Venice  is  paradise." 

"  Venice  is  your  home,  signor ;  and  home  is  paradise 
wherever  it  is.     Come,  let  us  go  to  dinner." 

Nathan  smiled  at  Ferrari  and  laid  his  hand  lovingly  on 
Anna's  shoulder  as  they  left  the  sn.all  entrance  hall  or 
porchway  into  the  general  room  of  the  old  house,  where 
dinner  was  ready. 

"  It  is  a  sentiment  that  does  you  honor  as  well  as  your 
daughter,"  said  the  Italian  in  reply ;  but  turning  to  Los- 
inski  he  added,  "  Is  it  good  after  all,  a  Providence  that 
gives  the  children  of  the  desert  a  proverb  instead  of  a 
home?" 

"  God  be  thanked,"  said  the  rabbi,  "  for  the  comfort  of 
Anna's  loving  sentiment." 

"  Amen,"  said  Ferrari :  "  long  live  the  grateful  heart ;  " 
and  then  to  himself,  "  Shall  we,  the  so-called  chosen,  always 
have  to  fawn  on  the  hand  that  smites  us  ?  " 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 


CHAPTER  II. 

HAPPY   CZAROVNA. 

It  was  an  interesting  and  characteristic  group,  the  Kloss- 
tock  household,  with  Ferrari  and  Losinski  as  guests,  a 
few  days  before  the  year  of  Anna's  bethrothal  to  the 
young  and  learned  rabbi  was  ended.  They  sat  round 
about  the  great  stove,  after  dinner,  Klosstock  in  his  brown 
gabardine,  looking  venerable  and  picturesque ;  the  young 
rabbi  similarly  attired  but  in  black,  a  heavy  signet  ring 
upon  the  forefinger  of  his  right  hand,  his  face  singularly 
handsome,  with  soft,  dreamy,  hazel  eyes,  a  brown  beard, 
not  unlike  the  beard  which  painters  give  to  their  imagin- 
ary portraits  of  Christ ;  Andrea  Ferrari,  the  Italian  Jew 
traveler,  a  shrewd,  keen-looking  man  of  middle  height, 
with  a  watchful  manner,  a  dark  olive  complexion,  a  strag- 
gling black  beard  and  moustache,  a  low  compact  forehead, 
as  much  of  his  mouth  as  you  could  see  denoting  firmness 
of  character,  his  hand  strong  and  nervous,  boney,  almost 
clawlike,  his  dress  of  a  far  more  artistic  cut  than  the  others, 
with  a  girdle  of  tanned  leather  and  of  ample  proportions, 
large  enough  and  strong  enough  to  carry  treasures  even 
more  valuable  than  their  weight  in  gold ;  and  hidden  in 
his  breast  both  knife  and  pistol — for  while  Andrea  could 
play  the  humble  Jew,  he  knew  also  how  to  protect  himself 
on  occasion.  There  had  been  times  when  he  had  found  it 
useful — and  his  conscience  took  no  affront  at  it — to  pass 
himself  off  as  a  Christian  citizen  of  Venice.  He  hated 
Russia  with  the  intensity  of  an  unforgiving  nature ;  his 
father,  an  inoffensive  pedlar  in  the  land,  having  lost  his 
life  in  a  street  brawl  at  the  hands  of  a  drunken  crew  of 


BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  13 

Moscow  revelers,  his  mother  falling  a  victim  to  grief  at 
her  husband's  death. 

Apart  from  these  inducements  to  revenge,  Andrea 
Ferrari  had  imbibed  the  doctrines  and  some  of  the  hopes 
of  the  latest  propaganda  of  the  Nihilists  of  Russia ;  but 
this  he  kept  a  strict  secret  in  his  own  breast,  he  well  know- 
ing that  in  Russia  even  a  secret  so  well  guarded  as  his 
sometimes  gets  out,  not  by  open  or  private  confession,  but 
through  a  keenly  interpreted  look,  a  sudden  interrogation, 
or  an  ill-considered  remark. 

The  somewhat  sinister  expression  of  Andrea's  face,  a 
habit  he  had  of  dropping  his  eyes,  an  introspective 
manner,  was  very  much  in  contrast  with  the  frank,  open 
countenances  of  the  host,  the  rabbi,  and  the  young  girl 
who  was  not  only  known  within  the  Pale  of  the  Settlement 
as  the  Queen  of  the  Ghetto,  but  outside  the  Jews'  quarter 
as  the  good  daughter  of  the  Liberal  Jew. 

Anna  loved  to  hear  Andrea  Ferrari  talk  of  his  travels, 
and  the  rabbi,  by  whose  side  she  sat,  an  attentive  listener 
to  the  general  conversation,  was  also  much  interested  in 
him. 

"  Tell  Anna,"  said  the  rabbi,  "  of  Venice ;  of  those 
olden  days  of  our  people,  and  how  our  brethren  have 
progressed  in  wealth,  in  power,'and  in  freedom  \  moreover, 
such  advancement  is  an  encouragement  for  hope,  even  here 
in  Russia." 

"  Would  to  God  that  all  our  neighbors,  far  and  near,'* 
said  Klosstock,  lighting  his  big  German  pipe,  ^'  were  as 
well  considered  and  as  justly  protected  in  their  rights  as 
we  of  Czarovna  ! " 

"  Rights  !  "  exclaimed  Andrea,  in  a  fierce  but  suppressed 
tone,  "  what  rights,  my  father?  " 

"  The  right  to  live  without  being  beaten — the  right  to 
pray  to  the  God  of  our  Fathers — the  right  to  buy  and  sell." 

"Yes,  we  are  well  off  at  Ciarovna,"  remarked  the 


14  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

rabbi ;  "  but  that  should  not  make  us  content  when  our 
brethren  in  the  east  and  west  are  ground  under  the  heel, 
beaten  in  the  streets,  cast  into  prison,  crucified  ;  and  even 
here  in  the  south,  Czarovna  is  one  of  the  few  exceptions, 
where  we  may  do  more  than  herd  together  like  animals 
content  to  feed  on  the  husks  their  masters  fling  to  them. 
But  it  was  so  in  Venice,  where  to-day  our  brethren  hold  up 
their  heads  in  the  blessed  sun,  and  walk  with  the  Christian 
merchants,  their  equals  in  respect  and  in  power. 

"  Not  quite  that,"  said  Andrea,  "  but  of  a  sufficient 
freedom  of  action  and  life;  it  is  only  in  London  where  it 
may  be  said  the  Jew  is  equal  to  the  Christian.  And  if  it 
weie  not  that  some  of  our  brethren,  steeped  in  the  preju- 
dices and  vices  that  have  been  engendered  of  a  thousand 
years  of  persecution,  did  not  trespass  upon  the  Englibh 
liberal  and  human  sentiment  by  ill  acts  that  we  as  a 
community  would  be  the  first  ourselves  to  punish,  London 
would  come  to  forget  entirely  that  a  man  were  Jew  or 
Gentile,  except,  if  he  were  a  Jew,  to  glorify  him  all  the 
more  for  his  good  works.  It  is  thus  that  we  are  cursed 
from  generation  to  generation  ;  the  offspring  of  the  dead, 
bitter  past,  the  child  of  persecution,  the  seed  of  misery 
and  dependence,  waxes  strong,  and  in  his  strength  de- 
velops the  cunning  of  a  past  in  which  it  was  his  only 
weapon,  and  brings  down  upon  individuals  the  curses  of 
even  the  great  liberal-minded  people  of  London." 

"  It  thou  wert  not  a  Jew,  and  true  as  the  ring  of  thine 
own  gold,  Andrea  Ferrari,  thy  words  would  be  thine  own 
condemnation  ;  but,  friend  of  many  countries,  do  thou  tell 
our  daughter  Anna  of  that  city  of  the  sea,  which  is  like 
the  dream  of  a  poet  rather  thap  a  sober  incident,  from  the 
book  of  real  experience  ;  and  whither  our  dear  son,  the 
rabbi,  doth  propose  to  travel  with  our  loving  daughter 
Anna — mayhap  accompanied  by  their  father — what  sayest 
thou,  Anna  ?  " 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  \\ 

"  It  is  too  much  happiness  to  think  upon,"  she  replied. 

*•  You  may  go  to  bed,  Amos  Negrusz,"  said  Klosstock, 
addressing  a  serving-man,  whom  both  the  rabbi  and 
Ferrari  had  eyed  with  something  like  suspicion.  The 
man  bowed,  but  said  nothing,  not  even  "Good-night." 
He  was  a  sinister-looking  person,  and  had  probably 
noticed  a  certain  watchfulness  on  the  part  of  the  guests 
that  was  peculiar  to  their  manner  on  this  occasion,  for 
though  he  had  only  been  in  the  Jew  Klosstock's  ser- 
vice a  few  weeks,  he  had  come  with  such  excellent  creden- 
tials, and  was  so  willing  and  so  anxious  to  all  appearance 
to  please,  that  both  the  rabbi  and  the  master  were  inclined 
to  trust  him,  and  to  regard  him  as  an  acquisition  to  the 
household. 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  the  rabbi,  lifting  the  heavy  curtain 
over  the  door  whence  Amos  Negrusz  had  disappeared,  and 
standing  for  a  moment  in  a  listening  attitude,  "  and  I  will 
explain  later." 

Klosstock  looked  inquiringly  at  his  daughter,  whose 
hand  seeking  his,  he  raised  it  to  his  lips,  and  she  laid  her 
head  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  I  do  not  like  the  man  Amos,"  said  the  rabbi,  in  a  low 
voice. 

«  Nor  do  I,"  added  Ferrari. 

"  Nay,  what  has  the  poor  fellow  done  ?  "  asked  Kloss- 
tock. "  You  thought  him  a  good  man  and  useful,  my 
son,  until  now." 

"I  did,"  said  the  rabbi.  "It  is  only  to-day  that  I 
doubt  him ;  only  to-night  that  I  fear  him." 

"  Fear  him  ?  "  said  Klosstock.     "  Do  I  hear  aright  ?  " 

"  Where  did  he  come  from  ?  "  asked  the  Italian. 

"  From  Elizabethgrad,"  said  Klosstock. 

"  Recommended  by  one  worthy  of  trust  ?  " 

"  Yes,  truly,"  replied  Klosstock,  "  the  merchant  Chane." 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  Ferrari  significantly.  "  Do  you 
know  the  merchant  Chane  ?  " 


|6  By  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

"  Not  to  speak  with  him,"  said  Klosstock,  "  but  I  know 
him  by  repute  as  one  whose  word  is  his  bond,  and  who 
has  large  possessions." 

"  Ha  ! "  ejaculated  the  Italian,  rising  and  pacing  the 
room  for  a  nioment,  and  at  the  same  time  pausing  near 
the  door,  as  if  he  listened  for  footsteps. 

"  Do  you  know  him  ?  "  asked  the  rabbi. 

"  I  do,"  said  Ferrari. 

"  I  fear  a  cloud  is  gathering  about  us,"  said  the  rabbi, 
"  but  one  which  may  break  far  away  if  we  are  careful.  I 
have  kept  watch  over  my  words  this  evening  that  your 
servant  might  not  hear  of  the  warnings  which  have  reached 
me  within  the  last  few  hours  from  a  trusted  friend  in  St. 
Petersburg." 

"  Is  it  touching  the  new  Governor  ?  "  said  Ferrari  inter- 
rupting him. 

"  It  is,"  said  the  rabbi. 

"  Alas,  I  can  indorse  it ;  and  I,  too,  have  observed  a 
reticent  demeanor,  for  the  reason  that  this  Amos  is  not 
what  he  represents  himself  to  be." 

"  Forewarned  is  forearmed,"  said  the  rabbi.  "  The  new 
Governor  is  on  his  way  to  Czarovna ;  it  may  be  possible  to 
propitiate  him ;  I  know  that  it  is  possible  for  him  to 
reduce  our  lives  to  the  miserable  level  of  those  of  our 
bvethren  at  Kiew.  That  we  are  an  exception  is  due  to 
exceptional  causes.  The  hand  of  persecution  lies  heavy 
on  our  brethren  all  round  about  us." 

"  Our  brethren  are  themselves  much  to  blame,"  said 
Klosstock.  "  They  make  hard  bargains  ;  they  thrive  on 
the  Christian  need  ;  they  do  no  acts  of  charity  outside  the 
Pale  of  Settlement ;  they  forget  that  God  made  us  all." 

"  They  remember,"  said  Ferrari,  "  that  the  Christian  has 
ground  then^  beneath  his  heel ;  they  remember  that  from 
age  to  age  in  all  countries  they  have  been  harried  by 
Christian  fire  and  sword;  and  that  even  in  these  days  of 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  tj^ 

so-called  charity  and  education,  and  especially  in  this  land 
of  the  Czar,  they  are  the  victims  of  harsh  laws,  aliens  alike 
from  freedom  and  justice,  and  compelled  to  kiss  the  rod 
that  stripes  them.  No,  my  father,  blame  them  not  that 
they  take  their  revenge." 

"  But  I  do  blame  them,  my  son,"  said  Klosstock,  "  and 
I  present  to  them  and  to  you  the  example  of  Czarovna  as 
proof  of  the  good  that  comes  out  of  toleration." 

"  Toleration  ! "  exclaimed  the  Italian,  but  in  a  hoarse 
v/hisper.  "*  The  merchant  Chane  is  a  tolerant  man. 
Hush !    But  we  alarm  our  good  young  hostess." 

"I  have  spoken  something  of  this  to  Anna  already," 
said  the  rabbi,  **  and  we  are  accustomed  to  discuss  many 
things  outside  the  ordinary  Hnes  of  education." 

Anna  crept  closer  to  her  father's  side,  and  looked  up 
wistfully  at  the  handsome  young  savant  who  was  to  be 
her  husband  within  the  next  few  days,  and  whom  she 
loved  with  the  devotion  of  her  fervent  and  affectionate 
nature. 


CHAPTER  HI. 

"A  BOLT   FROM   THE   BLUE." 

A  WARM  ruddy  glow  from  the  great  stove  fell  lovingly 
upon  the  group,  which  had  an  Oriental  picturesqueness  of 
detail  that  might  to  an  artist  have  recalled  the  lights  and 
shadows  of  the  master  painters  of  old,  with  the  exception 
that  there  was  something  modern  in  the  beauty  of  Anna, 
with  her  violet  eyes,  her  rich  red-gold  hair,  and  her  fresh 
complexion :  a  beauty  more  akin  to  pu»e  Venetian  than 
to  that  of  the  Semitic  race. 

**  Anna,  it  were  well  thou  went  to  rest,"  said  Klosstock ; 
"our  guest  and  friend  Andrea  is  over  anxious  about  this 
new  governor.  He  will  alarm  thee ;  and  even  our  dear 
Losinski  is  inclined  to  exaggerate  the  possibilities  of  the 

2 


i8  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

change  in  the  governorship.  It  is  true  we  are  parting 
with  a  kind  and  benevolent  man,  and  we  should  rejoice  in 
his  promotion." 

"  If  it  is  promotion,"  said  Ferrari. 

"  Yes,  my  son,  it  is — the  Governor  has  told  me  so  him- 
self; and  as  a  good  wife  makes  a  good  husband,  so  do 
good  subjects  make  good  governments,  and  there  is  some 
truth  in  the  credit  which  General  Poltava  gives  to  me  for 
the  peace  and  happiness  we  enjoy  in  Czarovna.  I  have 
conciliated  our  masters,  propitiated  our  neighbors,  our 
people  have  placed  their  interests  in  my  keeping.  I  have 
in  my  dealings  followed  the  example  of  my  father ;  and 
the  result  of  this  policy  is  seen  in  the  gates  of  the  Ghetto 
having  for  years  rusted  on  their  hinges,  unused  and  for- 
gotten, and  in  the  neighborly  relationship  of  Christian  and 
Jew,  such  as  exists  at  this  day,  Ferrari — as  you  were  telling 
me  when  last  you  favored  us  with  your  welcome  presence 
— in  that  city  of  the  sea,  which  once  was  the  seat  of  perse- 
cutions and  butcheries  of  our  race  beyond  the  power  of 
pen  or  tongue  to  describe." 

*  It  is  so,  my  father ;  and  it  would  be  to  Southern 
Russia  as  if  the  Messiah  were  with  them,  could  our  people 
enjoy  the  blessings  their  brethren  enjoy  in  Venice  and  in 
London,'* 

"'And  in  regard  to  which  Czarovna  stands  only  second, 
eh,  Ferrari  ?  " 

"  Czarovna  has  many  blessings,"  said  the  Italian. 

"  Thou  art  my  blessing,  Anna,"  said  Klosstock,  "  and 
it  grows  late." 

The  Jewish  maiden  rose,  embraced  her  father,  took  her 
leave  of  the  rabbi  and  their  guest,  and  taking  up  a  quaint 
old  lamp  retired,  her  heart  full  of  the  hope  that  if  she  and 
he  whom  she  loved  did  bend  their  steps  to  other  lands 
where  the  original  yoke  of  the  Egyptians  had  indeed  fallen 
clean  away  from  the  Jewish  shoulders,  her  father  might  be 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  !§ 

induced  to  accompany  them ;  though  she  knew  how  he 
would  cling  at  last  to  the  spot  where  her  mother,  the 
beloved  wife  of  his  youth,  lay  in  her  everlasting  bed.  But 
she  hoped  all  would  be  as  she  wished,  and  she  was  glad 
that  the  journey  had  been  talked  of  before  the  rabbi's 
friendly  messenger  had  brought  the  bad  bad  news,  which 
might  otherwise  have  made  the  departure  of  her  father 
seem  like  an  act  of  desertion. 

"Listen,  both  of  you- -Nathan  Klosstock  and  you,  my 
dear  friend  Losinski,"  said  Ferrari.  "The  butchers  are 
abroad.  The  red  fury  of  barbarism  is  once  more  march- 
ing through  the  land.  The  prediction  that  the  anti-Semitic 
trouble  of  Germany  would  spread  to  Russia  has  been 
pushed  on  by  Panslavist  emissaries  from  Moscow.  The 
flame  has  broken  out  at  Elizabethgrad.  The  Jews,  being 
forewarned  of  trouble,  applied  to  the  authorities  for  pro- 
lection.  They  were  treated  with  scorn.  While  I  speak  to 
you  the  Jews'  quarter  is  a  wreck.  Placards  were  issued, 
informing  the  orthodox  Russians  that  the  property  of  the 
Jews  had  been  given  over  to  them,  and  that  they  might 
take  it.  The  Government  did  not  deny  the  outrageous 
notification.  The  orthodox  rose.  The  military  being  called 
out  presented  themselves  at  the  scene  of  the  massacre,  but 
only  to  look  on,  their  criminal  sympathy  with  the  mob  only 
tending  to  encourage  the  cruel  excesses." 

"  Didst  thou  say  massacre  ?  "  asked  Klosstock,  looking 
aghast  at  the  Italian. 

"  I  said  massacre.  But  it  was  worse  than  massacre,  my 
father ;  twenty-five  good  women,  our  dear  sisters,  were 
violated,  ten  dying  in  consequence." 

"  Holy  Father  !  "  exclaimed  the  rabbi. 

"At  the  house  of  one  Mordecai  Wienarski,  the  mob, 
disappointed  of  plunder,  caught  up  his  child  and  hurled  it 
through  the  window.  The  infant  fell  dead  at  the  feet  of  a 
company  of  Cossacks,  but  they  moved  neither  to  take  it 


90  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

up  nor  to  arrest  the  murderers.  Two  thousand  of  our 
brethren  are  houseless  :  six  have  gone  to  their  long  rest ; 
many  are  grievously  wounded,  and  the  community  has 
been  plundered  of  property  of  the  value  of  forty  thousand 
Enghsh  pounds." 

"  Thou  strikest  me  dumb,  Ferrari ! "  said  the  host. 
"  What  dost  thou  advise  ? 

"  Nay,  calm  youVself,"  said.  Losinski ;  "  this  is  not  the 
first  rising  against  our  brethren  ;  and  while  all  Russia  has 
suffered  much  in 'this  way,  do  not  forget  that  Czarovna 
has  been  free  from  trouble.  We  must  not  seem  to  know 
of  this  terrible  news ;  we  must  show  no  fear ;  we  must  not 
let  it  change  our  manner  towards  our  neighbors  ;  General 
Poltava  is  still  with  us,  and  his  officers  are  kind  and 
considerate." 

"  Do  not  be  deceived,"  said  Ferrari  j  "  to-morrow,  per- 
haps to-night,  your  new  governor  will  arrive  at  the  palace ; 
I  passed  him  on  the  way  ;  he  was  traveling  incognito.  By 
this  time  General  Poltava  is  under  arrest." 

Klosstock  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  groaned. 

"  I  almost  hate  myself  for  being  the  bearer  of  such  ill- 
tidings,"  said  Ferrari ;  "  it  is  the  bolt  from  the  blue. 
I  found  you  steeped  in  the  happiness  of  virtue,  good-feel- 
ing, and  sweet  content ;  I  am  a  moral  earthquake  to  your 
household  bliss.  But  it  is  in  one's  happiest  hours  that 
Fate  strikes  us  down." 

"  Let  us  pray  !  "  said  the  rabbi. 

Nathan  Klosstock  fell  upon  his  knees  in  a  paroxysm  of 
grief.  Ferrari  bowed  his  head,  mumbling  to  himself  that 
he  would  rather  cut  the  throat  of  the  servant  Negrusz, 
before  he  had  time  to  do  him,  at  least,  a  mischief. 

The  rabbi  offered  up  an  eloquent  appeal  to  the  God  of 
their  Fathers,  recalling  the  many  favors  He  had  accorded 
to  His  chosen  people,  and  especially  the  blessings  He  had 
rouchsafed  to  Czarovna,  bewailing  the  persecutions  vrhich 


Sr  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  M 

His  people  suffered  round  about  them,  and  more  especially 
asking  for  the  protection  of  this  house  of  Klosstock,  and 
of  His  servant  Anna,  light  of  her  father's  old  age,  and 
soon  with  His  favor  to  be  a  wife  unto  the  humble  peti- 
tioner, and  so  on — a  prayer  of  faith  and  hope  and  humility, 
to  which  Klosstock  said  "  Amen,"  and  Ferrari  "  So  mote 
it  be  ! " 

Then  there  was  a  dead  pause,  and  the  three  men  stood 
up  and  listened,  as  if  they  expected  an  answer  to  the  rabbi's 
prayer  in  the  shape  of  some  good  omen  or  token  of  peace. 
But  all  was  still  as  death,  except  for  the  howl  of  some 
restless  dog  in  a  distant  street. 

The  moon  had  risen  and  was  pouring  its  beams  into  her 
chamber  as  Anna  set  down  her  lamp  upon  a  quaint  old 
chest  by  the  window.  She  sat  right  in  the  midst  of  the  lunar 
radiance  and  thought  how  beautiful  it  was,  how  lovely 
was  life — her  life — what  rich  blessings  God  had  lavished 
upon  her.  There  was  not  a  single  tremor  of  fear  in  her 
heart.  If  trouble  was  coming  to  Czarovna,  she  and  those 
she  most  loved  would  be  able  to  leave  it.  It  would  have 
been  too  much  to  have  expected  her  to  think  of  any  others 
at  that  moment  besides  her  father  and  her  lover.  Nor  could 
she  realize  the  bitterness  of  a  persecution  which  she  had 
not  felt,  and  which  Czarovna  had  not  known  in  her  time ; 
and  while  the  rabbi  had  spoken  of  these  things,  he  had 
been  jealous  not  to  overshadow  Anna's  happiness  with 
tales  of  horrors,  the  recitation  of  which,  while  they  might 
cast  a  shadow  upon  her  thoughts,  could  serve  no  useful  pur- 
pose. For  she  was  born  with  sensibilities  and  a  sympa- 
thetic nature,  and  would  find  in  life  itself,  as  she  grew 
older,  quite  enough  that  was  sad,  without  lavishing  her 
sympathies  upon  sorrows  and  troubles  she  could  neither 
influence,  amend,  nor  control. 

Anna  did  not  dream  of  the  shadowy  form  that  crept 
out  of  the  moonlight,  crouching  beneath  her  window,  as 


aa  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

she  closed  the  shutters  and  betook  herself  to  her  prayers. 
Neither  did  the  rabbi,  nor  the  guest,  nor  good  old  Father 
Klosstock.  For  the  three  men  now  lighted  fresh  pipes, 
and  gathered  about  the  stove  to  be  free  and  confidential 
in  their  conversation,  Anna  having  retired. 

"  This  new  governor,"  said  Ferrari,  "  is  General  Petro- 
novitch,  a  man  of  a  cruel  disposition,  who  hates  our 
chosen  people,  and  aids  and  abets  their  persecution. 
Nay,  dear  host,  my  good  friend,  be  not  impatient  with  me. 
I  knc  w  what  I  say  ;  know  more  than  I  dare  to  communi- 
cate to  you ;  know  more  than  some  might  say  I  ought ; 
more  I  hope  than  is  good  for  such  as  Petronovitch." 

"  I  have  never  asked  thee,  Ferrari,  whence  thou  comest, 
or  whither  thou  goest ;  but  I  trust  to  thy  love  and  dis- 
cretion not  to  compromise  this  household  with  anything 
that  can  be  called  political." 

*'  Your  trust  is  well  placed ;  I  am  here  for  the  last  time. 
Czarovna  will  see  me  no  more,  nor,  indeed,  will  Russia, 
after  I  leave  her  accursed  soil  on  this  last  journey. 
Indeed,  but  for  the  love  I  bear  you  and  your  daughter  I 
should  have  not  been  here  to  say  farewell ;  for  I  passed  a 
long  distance  out  of  the  way  I  was  going  to  bring  you  the 
warning  which  the  rabbi  Losinski  has  haply  received 
before  me.  It  is  well ;  you  might  otherwise  have  thought 
less  of  what  I  had  to  tell  you." 

"  If  you  are  compromised  in  the  eyes  of  the  Govern- 
ment, Andrea  Ferrari,  it  is  hardly  kind  to  have  made  this 
your  chief  house  of  call  in  Southern  Russia,"  said  the 
rabbi. 

"  I  have  had  no  reason  to  believe  that  I  was  suspected 
until  I  left  St.  Petersburg  this  time,  intending  to  go  to 
Paris  ;  but  some  sudden  knowledge  of  the  change  of 
government  here  and  the  departure  of  a  certain  man  from 
the  capital  for  Elizabethgrad  and  Czarovna,  forced  me,  as 
I  said  before,  out  of  the  love  I  bear  this  household,  to 
make  my  way  hither."  * 


^y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  fl3 

While  he  was  speaking,  the  man  who  had  crept  out  of 
the  moonlight  entered  the  old  house  by  a  side  door  in  the 
courtyard,  which  was  opened  to  him  by  an  inmate  ;  and 
at  the  same  time  there  emerged  from  an  archway  in  the 
street  at  the  entrance  to  the  Ghetto  a  file  of  soldiers,  and 
a  wagon  came  rumbling  along  the  thoroughfare,  awaken- 
ing the  otherwise  quiet  echoes  of  the  night. 

"What  is  the  noise  outside  ?  "  asked  Ferrari,  feeling  the 
knife,  which  he  always  carried  handy  in  a  belt  on  his  hip. 

"  Some  late  carrier  from  the  country,"  said  Klosstock. 

"  You  seem  much  disturbed,"  remarked  the  rabbi. 

"  I  had  a  bad  dream  last  night ;  I  thought  I  was  sitting 
here  among  you,  and  that  suddenly  there  started  up 
behind  the  stove  a  man,  who  said,  *  Andrea  Ferrari,  thou 
art  my  prisoner.'  The  noise  outside  struck  me  curiously 
as  if  it  were  the  prologue  to  my  captivity." 

"  Hast  thou  been  drinking,  Andrea  ?  "  the  old  man 
asked. 

"  Nay,  I  am  in  my  soberest  senses  ;  a  little  over-anxious 
for  thy  welfare  perhaps  ;  for  know  this — Governor  General 
Petronovitch  is  a  sensualist,  and  a  tyrant ;  he  is  believed 
to  have  instigated  the  rising  against  our  chosen  people  at 
Elizabethgrad,  and  your  friend  Poltava's  withdrawal  from 
the  province  is  not  promotion,  it  is  disgrace ;  he  is  even 
suspected  of  sympathy  with  the  Nihilistic  propaganda." 

"  God  forbid  ! "  exclaimed  Klosstock. 

'*  Moreover  thy  new  servant,  Amos  Negrusz,  is  a 
Government  spy " 

*'  And  he  arrests  thee,  Andrea  Ferrari,  as  a  traitor  I " 
said  a  voice,  which  seemed  to  come  from  the  earth,  as  the 
three  men  started  to  their  feet  and  the  servant  emerged 
from  a  dark  corner  of  the  room,  covering  Ferrari  with  the 
shining  barrel  of  a  revolver,  while  at  the  same  time  another 
person  appeared  from  the  doorway  whence  Anna  had 
retired,  and  a  loud  knocking  was  heard  at  the  front  door 
of  the  house. 


<4  £r  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

"  Do  thou  open  thy  door  to  the  police,"  said  Negrusz. 

Ferrari  had  stood  perfectly  still,  his  heart  beating 
wildly,  but  hand  and  head  ready  for  the  slightest  chance 
of  escape.  The  arrogant  act  of  the  servant  in  ordering 
the  master  to  open  his  own  door  gave  Ferrari  the  oppor- 
tunity. It  was  only  for  a  second  that  Negrusz  was  off  his 
guard,  but  in  that  second  Ferrari,  with  the  agility  of  a  cat, 
was  upon  him,  his  knife  in  his  throat,  the  pistol  wrested 
from  him,  and  the  next  moment  the  lithe  Italian  had  dis- 
appeared through  the  open  doorway  in  the  rear. 

A  scene  of  confusion  followed  :  hurried  orders  of  mili- 
tary men,  the  screams  of  women,  and  presently  the  report 
of  firearms  in  the  principal  street  of  the  Ghetto. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

AN  ESCAPE. 

His  teeth  set,  his  red  knife  firmly  grasped,  Ferrari  sped 
through  the  narrow  streets,  down  strange  passages,  now 
crouching  out  of  the  moonlight,  now  dashing  through  its 
beams,  until  he  found  himself  on  the  bank  of  the  river  that 
skirted  the  settlement.  Here,  in  the  shadow  of  a  bridge, 
he  rested,  and  hoped  Losinski's  prayer  had  indeed  been 
heard,  and  half  believed  it  had,  his  escape  so  far  having 
been  nothing  less  than  miraculous ;  and  breathless  as  he 
was,  panting  for  very  life,  he  rejoiced  that  the  spy  Negrusz 
had  been  delivered  into  his  hands. 

Presently  he  looked  back  towards  the  village.  Lights 
were  appearing  in  the  previously  darkened  windows.  He 
thought  he  heard  the  hum  of  voices.  No  doubt  the  whole 
place  was  up  in  arms.  He  feared  for  the  safety  of  Anna, 
and  for  the  lives  of  his  dear  friends.  What  would  happen  ? 
Could  he  be  of  use  to  the  Klosstocks,  upon  whom  it 
seemed  to  him  he  had  brought  disaster  and  ruin  ?    How 


SV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  iQ 

could  he  hope  to  escape?  He  was  now  known  to  the 
police,  denounced  by  Negrusz — a  sleuth  hound  of  the  St. 
Petersburg  Detective  Force>  who  had  found  reason  to 
suspect  Ferrari  about  the  time  of  the  murder  of  the  Czar. 
While,  however,  he  was  making  up  his  mind  to  act,  Ferrari, 
in  the  very  house  where  Negrusz  thought  he  had  him  safe, 
had  managed  to  disappear,  which  was  sufficient  evidence 
to  satisfy  Negrusz  if  ever  he  again  encountered  him.  From 
that  moment  Ferrari  had  assumed  one  of  his  various  dis- 
guises, which  he  had  only  laid  aside  on  his  way  to  Czar- 
ovna,  and  this  was  the  last  visit  he  had  intended  to  pay  to 
his  friends  in  Southern  Russia. 

Ferrari  had,  for  several  years,  been  associated  with  the 
propagandists  ;  but  until  this  night  his  hand  had  shed  no 
blood  in  the  Nihilistic  cause,  and  now  that  he  had  whetted 
his  knife  he  felt  a  thirst  for  more. 

What  should  he  do  ?  Take  advantage  of  the  disturbance 
and  sensation  of  the  affair  at  the  Klosstocks  to  »neak  back 
into  the  Ghetto  and  find  shelter  there  ?  Or  make  his  way 
to  some  distant  village  ?  Or  seek  refuge  for  a  time  in  the 
adjacent  woods  ? 

There  was  a  certain  Count  Stravensky,  a  landowner 
near  Czarovna,  of  whom  Ferrari  had  in  secret  conclave 
heard  as  "  one  of  us."  If  he  only  knew  whether  he  might 
trust  the  count !     If  he  only  knew  where  to  find  his  place  I 

This  Count  Stravensky  was  one  of  the  old  nobility,  who 
had  been  grossly  insulted  by  the  Pristav  of  the  district 
during  a  search  for  secret  printing  presses,  and  piqued 
at  the  treatment  his  complaint  had  received,  and  nettled 
at  his  exclusion  from  Court,  he  had  indeed  joined  the 
forces  of  that  vast  agitation  which  was  shaking  the  social 
order  of  Russia  to  its  foundations.  As  the  count  is  des- 
tined to  figure  in  these  columns,  it  may  be  well  to  refer  to 
the  peculiar  kind  of  persecution  to  which  even  the  highest 
as  well  as  the  lowliest  of  the  land  are  subjected — ^Jew  and 


aC  BY  ORDER  OT  THE  CZAR, 

Gentile,  noble  and  peasant,  men  and  women,  gentle  and 
simple. 

During  the  periods  of  what  Stepniak  calls  "  the  White 
Terror,"  which  generally  follows  on  great  attempts  or  de- 
tected plots,  when  searches  are  made  by  the  hundred, 
there  is  hardly  a  family  belonging  to  the  educated  classes 
who,  on  retiring  to  rest,  do  not  tremble  at  the  thought 
that  before  morning  they  may  be  roused  from  their  sleep 
by  the  emissaries  of  the  Czar.  The  Count  Stravensky, 
during  one  of  these  general  raids,  felt  thoroughly  entitled 
to  sleep  in  peace.  But  as  it  turned  out,  he  had  offended 
the  Procurator  of  the  district,  who  had  some  personal 
scores  to  settle  with  the  local  nobility.  The  count  was 
not  one  of  the  most  amiable  of  human  beings,  it  is  true ; 
but  he  was  faithful  to  the  dynasty,  and  had  inherited  from 
his  progenitors  a  love  of  home  and  country.  He  was  a 
widower,  and  his  only  son  had  died  fighting  for  the  Czar 
in  Central  Asia.  One  day,  with  drums  beating  and  ban- 
ners flying,  the  Procurator  marched  into  the  woodland 
country  beyond  Czarovna,  and  infested  the  house  and 
grounds  of  the  count.  No  one  was  permitted  to  leave  and 
none  to  enter,  until  the  ofiicer  and  his  men  had  ransacked 
the  place  for  a  secret  printing  press  or  for  incriminating 
papers.  They  found  neither ;  but  a  few  versts  away  they 
discovered,  in  the  library  of  the  count's  nearest  neighbor, 
a  newspaper  calling  upon  the  Czar  to  give  the  country  a 
Constitution.  The  editor  and  proprietor  of  the  journal 
had  already  been  imprisoned  for  this  offence.  The  count's 
neighbor  could  not  say  how  the  paper  came  into  his  room ; 
he  vowed  he  had  not  only  not  read  it,  but  had  never  seen 
it  until  it  was  taken  from  his  desk ;  and  it  afterwards  was 
clearly  shown  that  he  spoke  the  truth — a  discharged  ser- 
vant confessed  that  he  had  placed  it  where  it  was  found, 
and  afterwards  given  information  to  the  police.  Never- 
theless, the  count's  neighbor,  who  had  been  carried  off  to 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  §f 

prison,  was  not  released  upon  this  evidence,  but  died  on 
his  way  to  Siberia.  The  count  was  forcibly  confined  to 
his  house  for  several  days,  and,  though  he  escaped  the  fate 
of  his  neighbor,  he  was  subjected  to  much  annoyance,  until 
the  Procurator  was  dismissed  from  his  office  for  a  glaring 
offence  against  a  more  favored  individual.  When  the  local 
noble's  name  occurred  to  Ferrari,  he  had  just  previously 
received  an  official  token  of  the  Imperial  favor  and  at  the 
same  time  a  large  acquisition  of  wealth.  But  all  this  was 
too  late  so  far  as  his  allegiance  to  the  Czar  was  concerned  ; 
he  had  long  since  lent  his  secret  aid  to  the  general  agita- 
tion, but  with  a  secrecy  which  defied  the  keenest  eye. 

Ferrari,  unfortunately,  had  no  knowledge  of  these 
details,  and  so  keenly  did  the  count  protect  himself  that 
it  is  possible,  had  the  Italian  sought  refuge  on  his  estate, 
he  would  have  given  him  up  to  the  police.  That  would 
have  entirely  depended  on  circumstances  ;  for  Stravensky 
was  a  man  of  moods,  and  of  late  he  had  given  the  new 
Procurator  every  reason  to  believe  that  he  was  active  in 
the  interests  of  the  Czar  and  his  officers. 

While  Ferrari  was  holding  within  himself  a  council  of 
war,  there  issued  from  the  village  a  dozen  troopers,  no 
doubt  from  the  local  barracks,  who  came  sweeping  across 
the  plain  in  the  direction  of  the  spot  where  he  lay  con- 
cealed in  the  shadow  of  the  bridge. 

At  first  blush,  he  gave  himself  up  for  lost,  but  determined 
to  die  hard.  Sheathing  his  knife,  he  drew  his  revolver, 
and  crouched  behind  the  timbers  of  the  bridge,  that  he 
might,  at  least,  empty  every  barrel  before  he  was  taken. 
But  the  horsemen  dashed  across  the  bridge  and  disappeared 
over  the  plain  and  away  into  the  woods  beyond,  on  their 
way,  no  doubt,  to  the  residence  of  Petronovitch,  the  old 
palace  of  the  Provincial  Government. 

The  Italian,  with  an  involuntary  prayer  of  thankfulness, 
now  crept  from  his  retreat  and  made  his  way  back  to  the 


ai  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

Ghetto.  If  he  could  only  find  shelter  he  knew  that  he 
could  rely  upon  his  fellow  Jews  to  conceal  him.  He  had 
such  words  of  brotherly  responsibility  for  them,  such 
tokens  of  strength  and  power  in  the  rings  he  wore  upon 
his  fingers,  that  he  had  only  to  find  a  corner  to  put  his 
head  into  to  be  sure  that  he  might  keep  it  there  so  long  as 
it  pleased  God  not  to  guide  the  hunters  to  his  hiding- 
place. 

Changing  his  appearance  in  various  little  ways,  in  the 
hope  of  being  able  to  pass  the  scrutinizing  eyes  of  the 
policeman  who  had  seen  him,  and  taking  out  his  knife  with 
a  determined  resolution  of  using  it  if  necessary,  he  managed 
to  reach  the  back  streets  of  the  Pale  of  Settlement  without 
being  observed.  He  could  hear  the  sound  of  many  voices 
in  the  distance,  and  there  were  lights  in  some  of  the 
humblest  of  the  half  mud  and  wholly  thatched  homes  of 
his  fellow  religionists. 

Beneath  a  heavy  archway  he  noticed  at  a  corner  of  one 
of  the  streets  a  more  than  usually  spacious  house,  the  door 
open,  a  lamp  burning  in  the  outer  hall,  and  he  entered. 
It  was  evidently  the  home  of  poverty,  large  as  was  the  house, 
unless  it  was  one  of  those  instances  of  opulence  which 
often  in  Jewish  quarters  hides  itself  in  back  rooms  behind 
squalid  exteriors. 

Passing  through  the  outer  room,  ill-furnished  and  of 
evil  smell,  Ferrari  heard  someone  speaking  in  the  next 
apartment.  Laying  his  head  to  the  ground,  he  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  two  persons  were  in  the  room,  a  man 
and  a  woman.  Going  back  to  the  entrance  to  the  house, 
he  closed  the  door,  drew  the  bolt  behind  him,  passed 
through  the  outer  hall,  then  boldly  lifted  the  latch  of  the 
further  room  and  entered. 

Raising  his  right  hand  with  an  eloquent  benediction,  he 
invited,  nay  commanded,  aid  and  sympathy,  both  of  which 
he  received,  and  at  once. 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  S) 

The  home  he  had  entered  was  the  house  of  Moses 
Grunstein,,who  lived  with  his  young  wife  and  one  servant 
in  the  utmost  seclusion  that  was  possible  in  the  Ghetto. 
He  had  married  a  second  time,  had  no  children,  was  rich 
in  this  world's  goods,  and  was  honored  and  respected. 
He  carried  on  a  large  general  business,  and  had  made 
money  by  dint  of  saving  his  profits  and  lending  them  at 
fair  usance  to  his  Russian  neighbors,  and  to  the  landowners 
of  the  district.  Few  persons — never  a  Christian  if  he  could 
help  it — ever  saw  the  inner  glories  of  his  house,  where  he 
lived  in  good  style,  surrounded  with  valuable  articles  of 
furniture  and  decoration,  which  rejoiced  the  heart  of  his 
young  wife,  Deborah,  who  was  content  to  wear  her  jewels 
on  high  days  and  holidays,  and  in  the  intervals  for  her  own 
pleasure  in  the  private  rooms  of  her  husband's  house. 

"  A  fugitive,"  said  Moses,  repeating  Ferrari's  explana- 
tion ,  "  the  friend  of  Joel  Strackosch,  of  St.  Petersburg, 
with  a  mission  to  the  Rothschilds,  in  London,  and  the  victim 
of  a  conspiracy  of  the  Russian  police.  It  were  enough 
that  thou  art  the  esteemed  guest  of  our  brother  Klosstock. 
For  I  have  seen  thee  there." 

"  Do  you  not  know,  then,  what  has  happened  ?  "  asked 
the  Italian. 

'♦  Where  ?     When  ?  " 

«  Now — in  the  village — almost  in  the  next  street !  * 

"  No,"  answered  the  old  man,  his  young  wife  clinging  to 
him  in  an  attitude  of  alarm. 

"  Have  you  not  heard  the  report  of  firearms  ?  " 

"  No  ;  we  spend  our  nights  in  prayer  and  contempla- 
tion." 

"  Where  are  your  servants  ?  " 

"  We  have  only  one.  Where  is  Esther  ?  "  He  turned 
and  addressed  his  wife,  who  at  once  went  forth  to  find  the 
servant.  Returning,  she  said  Esther  was  not  in  the  house, 
and  yet  the  doors  wereM)arred. 


30  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

Ferrari  explained  how  he  had  found  the  place  open  and 
how  he  had  himself  bolted  the  doors  after  him.  "  No 
doubt,"  he  said,  "  your  servant  heard  the  noise,  and  has 
gone  out  to  see  what  is  the  matter."  Then  he  related 
what  had  happened,  whereupon  the  host  said,  "  My  son, 
this  is  of  serious  moment ;  surely  it  Is  the  breaking  up  of 
the  peace  of  Czarovna ;  every  house  will  be  searched,  but 
thou  couldst  not  have  entered  one  where  thy  secret  is  so 
safe.  The  Ghetto  has  not  always  been  the  abode  of  secu- 
rity. Deborah,  do  Ihou  undo  the  doors  and  await  thy 
handmaid's  coming.  Our  brother  Ferrari's  secret  is  our 
secret,  and  we  pledge  ourselves  to  that  before  God." 

Deborah  bowed  her  head,  and  as  she  lifted  up  her  face 
the  old  man  kissed  her  upon  the  forehead. 

"  Follow  me,"  he  said,  taking  up  a  lamp  and  addressing 
Ferrari,  who  followed  him  straight,  the  old  man  leading 
the  way  through  various  passages  and  lavishly  furnished 
rooms,  into  what  appeared  to  be  a  cloth  warehouse,  and 
thence  into  a  narrow  courtyard,  shut  in  by  the  tall  front  of 
the  warehouse  and  overhanging  rock.  In  a  corner  of  the 
dark  and  gruesome  cul  de  sac  was  what  appeared  to  be  a 
well,  by  the  dark  side  of  which  the  old  man  paused  as  if 
they  had  arrived  at  their  destination. 

"  Be  not  afraid,  my  son,  I  mean  thee  well,"  said  the  old 
man  :  "  a  wary  correspondent  of  mine,  two  days  ago,  gave 
1  „  a  note  of  warning  that  trouble  was  falling  upon  Eliza- 
bethgrad,  and  that  the  blast  of  persecution  might  even 
blow  in  this  direction,  but  although  I  showed  my  wife  this 
refuge  yesterday  for  the  first  time  I  did  not  think  I  might 
have  to  use  it,  and  I  take  thy  coming  as  a  sign  from 
God." 

"  But  where  is  the  retreat,  my  father  ?  "  asked  Ferrari, 
the  damp  mouldy  odor  of  the  place  promising  anything  but 
a  comfortable  sanctuary. 

"  It  is  at  hand.     Wouldst  thou  have  it  easy  of  access  i 


^V  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  3I 

They  who  made  this  refuge  were  thoughtful  of  their  fugi- 
tives and  of  their  Hves  ;  follow  me." 

The  old  man,  handing  Ferrari  the  lamp,  proceeded  to 
descend  the  well,  not  with  the  aid  of  rope  or  bucket,  but 
by  steps  which  he  sought  with  his  feet  while  clinging  to 
the  side.  He  knelt  down,  then  feet  foremost  literally  went 
into  the  well.  His  head  resting  upon  the  coping  stone,  he 
said  :  "  Thou  wilt  feel  niches  on  the  right  and  left  for  thy 
feet ;  the  water  would  not  drown  thee  if  thou  wert  to  fall, 
which  is  impossible ;  Deborah  descended  yesterday ;  lower 
thyself  by  means  of  the  niches  for  thy  feet,  and  I  will  con- 
duct thee  further  :  give  me  the  lamp." 

Ferrari,  following  these  instructions,  presently  entered 
a  small  subterranean  passage,  now  lighted  by  the  lamp  of 
his  host,  who  stood  upright  at  the  further  end,  whence  a 
door  swung  open  at  his  touch,  and  closed  upon  them  with 
a  spring  that  seemed  to  clutch  the  rock  through  which  the 
place  had  been  excavated.  They  were  within  the  outer 
halls  of  an  immense  natural  cave,  their  way  marked  by 
stalactite  and  stalagmite,  their  footsteps  awakening  echoes 
ihat  were  accompanied  by  the  distant  sound  of  falling 
waters. 

Suddenly  coming  to  a  standstill,  Ferrari's  guide  lifted 
his  lamp  high  above  his  head  and  pomted  onward,  where 
streaks  of  daylight  seemed  to  penetrate  the  gloom  afar  off. 
They  paused  here  to  make  a  turning  to  the  right,  through 
a  narrow  way,  where  the  darkness  was  so  intense  that  the 
lamp  fiirly  blinked  at  it.  Then  suddenly  they. were  ob- 
structed by  what  appeared  to  be  solid  rock.  The  aged 
Jew  stooped  and  apparently  turned  a  key,  and  the  next 
moment  a  heavy  door  swung  upon  its  hinges  and  disclosed 
a  lighted  chamber,  fairly  well  furnished,  with  comfortable 
rugs  and  skins,  cupboards  and  cabinets,  the  latter  roughly 
made  but  strong  and  evidently  filled  with  treasures. 

"  I  have  made  these,"  said  Moses  Grunstein,  "  with  my 


3^  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

own  hands,"  pointing  to  the  furniture;  "it  has  been  a 
labor  of  love  for  twenty  years,  and  here  you  may  rest  and 
be  secure.  My  wife  has  been  here,  but  without  my  aid 
no  person  could  discover  this  sanctuary,  nor  finding  the 
passage  could  suspect  the  door,  nor  finding  the  door  could 
open  it  except  by  siege,  and  besieging  it  could  not  prevent 
the  inmate's  escape,  as  I  will  show  thee  when  thou  hast 
refreshed  thyself  and  surveyed  thy  new  abiding  place." 

Ferrari  found  his  curiosity  as  well  as  his  gratitude  ex- 
cited to  the  utmost,  and  was  as  anxious  to  know  the  story 
of  the  cavern  as  Moses  Grunstein  was  to  know  the  details 
of  what  had  passed  at  the  house  of  his  dear  friend  Kloss- 
tock. 

"  First  be  seated,"  said  Grunstein,  "and  I  will  disclose 
to  thee  thy  store  of  wine  and  food." 

Ferrari's  kindlyhost  lighted  another  lamp  and  produced 
candles  from  a  spacious  cupboard,  where  there  were  stores 
of  biscuits  in  tins,  unleavened  bread,  dried  fish,  jars  of 
honey  and  fruits  ;  beneath  this  cupboard  was  a  lower  one 
containing  wines  and  medicines ;  while  close  by  were 
various  cooking  utensils,  and  wood  and  charcoal. 

*'  It  is  rarely  cold  here,"  said  Grunstein,  "  and  I  am  dis- 
posed to  believe  there  is  a  natural  warmth  in  this  part  of 
the  cave  arising  from  a  hot  spring ;  for  there  is  a  warm 
mist  always  rising  beyond  the  further  compartment,  and  I 
heai  a  bubbling  of  waters ;  but  I  have  made  a  cheerful  fire, 
and  with  perfect  security.  At  first  I  feared  that  the  smoke 
thereof  might  betray  me  ;  but  it  has  not ;  it  seems  to  me 
that  this  cavern  is  almost  endless  ;  five  and  twenty  years 
ago  I  discovered  it,  and  I  have  spent  days  within  its  hills 
and  valleys  but  have  never  found  any  ending  of  it.  Did  the 
Russian  law  enable  a  Jew  to  buy  land  I  would  have  pur- 
chased this  estate  and  made  money  by  exhibiting  this 
wonder  of  Czarovna,  as  money  is  made  in  other  parts  of 
the  world  by  similar  exhibitions.     I  know  the  history  of 


BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  %% 

every  known  cavern  in  the  world,  so  far  as  their  nistories 
are  related  in  books.  And  while  I  tremble  lest  thou 
shouldst  deceive  me,  I  feel  a  glow  of  pleasure  in  showing 
thee  my  treasures." 

'*  I  have  sworn  to  thee,  Moses  Grunstein,  and  that  binds 
me  J  but  a  very  devil  might  be  trusted  out  of  his  gratitude 
to  be  true  to  thy  secret,  if  thou,  hadst  saved  him  from  a 
Christian  saint  as  thou  hast  saved  me  from  Christian  devils. 
And  I  say  saved,  with  a  kind  of  revelation  that  it  is  so ; 
for  know,  dear  friend,  that  I  am  master  of  so  many  dis- 
guises that  with  thy  aid  I  need  not  remain  here  longer  than 
is  necessary  for  thee  to  provide  me  with  the  means  to  make 
myself  someone  else,  and  happily  I  have  more  than  one 
passport  which  I  can  fit  with  more  than  one  disguise. 


CHAPTER  V. 

AN   ARREST. 

While  host  and  guest  were  thus  entertaining  each  other 
in  Grunstein's  remarkable  retreat,  the  police  were  seek- 
ing Ferrari  in  every  house  of  the  Ghetto,  and  troops  were 
scouring  the  country  in  all  directions.  Poor  Anna  was 
aroused  from  her  dreams  of  bliss  to  be  declared  a  prisoner 
in  her  father's  house.  The  officer  placed  in  charge  had 
every  room  ransacked  for  seditious  papers.  Her  own 
virgin  chamber  was  not  sacred  from  their  prying  eyes. 
Before  it  was  well  day  the  new  governor.  General  Petro- 
novitch,  made  his  appearance.  He  sat  in  Nathan  Kloss- 
tock's  great  room,  and  had  the  owner  and  his  daughter 
brought  before  him  as  if  they  were  criminals. 

"  So,"  he  said,  "  you  are  the  vile  reptiles  that  have  found 
so  much  favor  with  my  predecessor? — like  governor, 
like  subject." 

8 


34.  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

"  We  are  no  reptiles,  may  it"  please  your  Excellency," 
Nathan  Klosstock  replied. 

"  Dog  of  a  Jew  !  "  exclaimed  Petronovitch,  '*  how  comes 
it  then  that  my  Imperial  master's  mandate  is  treated  with 
contempt,  and  his  trusted  officer  murdered  in  thy  house, 
and  by  the  hands  of  thy  guests,  traitors  to  His  Imperial 
Majesty  ?  " 

"  If  I  may  be  permitted  to  answer  I  would  say  we  are 
no  traitors  to  His  Imperial  Majesty,  but  humble,  loving 
subjects." 

"  Loving  subjects?  I  spit  upon  thee,  thou  cursed  Jew  ! " 
and  he  spat  accordingly. 

"  Nay,  sir,  have  mercy  upon  my  daughter  ;  she  has  been 
trained  to  pray  for  His  Imperial  Majesty,  and  to  honor 
her  father." 

''Has  she  so?"  said  Petronovitch,  turning  his  cruel 
eyes  upon  her ;  she  does  not  honor  thee  in  her  handsome 
face,  nor  in  her  graceful  figure.  Stand  up,  girl,  thou  needs 
not  fear ;  where  is  the  man  to  whom  thou  art  betrothed, 
as  they  tell  me  thou  art  ?  " 

"  The  rabbi  Losinski,  your  Excellency,"  said  Anna,  in  a 
voice  trembling  with  agony  and  distress,  "  was  driven 
forth." 

"  The  Jew  Losinski,"  said  the  officer,  "  we  thought  it 
well  your  Excellency,  to  keep  apart  from  the  other  prison- 
ers.    He  is  without." 

"  Bring  him  before  us,"  said  Petronovitch. 

Two  soldiers  appeared  with  Losinski. 

"  The  rabbi  Losinski  ?  "  said  Petrdnovitch  with  a  note 
of  interrogation. 

The  rabbi  bowed  his  head. 

"  The  famous  student  of  St.  Petersburg  ?  *' 

"  Your  humble  servant,"  said  the  rabbi,  "  and  your 
Imperial  Master's  faithful  subject." 

"  For  the  present,  to  show  that  we  are  the  merciful 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  35 

officers  of  a  merciful  Emperor  and  Father  of  his  people, 
be  they  Jew  or  Gentile,  Turk  or  Persian,  thou  art  released. 
Betake  thee  to  thy  home." 

The  rabbi  lingered  for  a  moment  and  then  advanced 
towards  Anna. 

"  Begone,  I  say." 

Anna  raised  her  eyes  full  of  appeal  and  tears. 

"  This  woman  is  my  betrothed,"  said  Losinski ;  "  per- 
mit me  to  remain." 

'  Ill-mannered  cur  !  "  said  Petronovitch,  "  out  of  my 
sight ! ' 

Then  turning  to  the  officer,  he  said,  "  Thrust  him  forth." 

And  forthwith  the  rabbi  was  hustled  into  the  street, 
where  the  sun  was  finding  its  way  into  the  dark  corners  of 
the  Ghetto,  and  a  wild  song-bird,  straying  from  the  mea- 
dows by  the  river,  was  singing  somewhere  in  the  blue  sky. 

With  what  a  heavy  heart  did  Losinski  turn  towards  his 
home  !  As  he  appeared  in  the  midst  of  the  Jewish  dwell- 
ings, men  and  women  came  out  of  their  houses,  and  many 
were  trooping  in  from  their  pleasant  homes  outside  the 
Ghetto.  They  were  making  their  way  to  the  Synagogue 
in  response  to  the  triple  knock  upon  their  doors — the  usual 
call  to  prayer — at  this  time  both  a  surprise  and  a  warning. 

•'  We  need  thy  counsel,"  said  one  of  the  foremost  of  his 
flock  ;  '*  we  need  mutual  advice." 

"  And  prayer,"  said  the  rabbi. 

They  pressed  on  their  way,  encompassing  the  burial 
ground  of  their  race,  and  more  than  one  of  the  aged  people 
remembered  the  martyred  dead  who  lay  there.  Czarovna 
had  a  history  of  cruel  rule  and  bitter  persecution  ;  and  in 
more  than  one  breast  of  those  who  followed  the  rabbi 
arose  the  fear  that  the  peace  and  happiness  of  the  past 
ten  years  was  but  a  passing  ray  of  light  in  the  gloom 
of  their  ancient  records,  and  that  once  more  they  were 
about  to  enter  upon  a  period  of  misery  and  tribulation. 


36  BV  ORDER  OF  J  HE  CZAR. 

The  news  of  the  previous  night  had  spread  like  wildfire  ; 
reports  of  the  massacre  of  Elizabethgrad  had  come  in,  and 
during  the  day  strange  men  had  taken  up  their  quarters  at 
the  inns,  without  any  apparent  object  of  business  or  kin- 
ship, or  for  any  purpose  of  pleasure.  Occasionally  a  tra- 
veler would  appear  in  the  village,  to  inspect  the  old 
cathedral  church  and  palace,  or  to  wander  over  a  strange 
group  of  rocks  that  rose  in  curious  shape  beyond  th« 
Ghetto  and  down  to  the  river — as  if  they  had  been  thrown 
up  by  some  sudden  revulsion  of  nature — and  beneath 
which  Grunstein  had  made  his  interesting  and  useful  dis- 
covery ;  but  the  newly-arrived  strangers  seemed  to  have 
no  business  of  any  kind,  and  it  was  said  by  a  traveler 
from  the  West  that  it  was  thus  the  troubles  began  at  Eliza- 
bethgrad. 

Arrived  at  the  Synagogue,  after  an  earnest  prayer  for 
guidance  and  help,  the  rabbi  related  to  the  people  what 
had  taken  place  at  the  house  of  Nathan   Klosstock,  and 
he  advised  his  brethren  to  have  a  care  how  they  conducted 
themselves  and  their  affairs  in  presence   of  the  affliction 
that  had  befallen  them.     He  spoke  with  emotion  of  the 
arrest  of  the  late  Governor,  Poltava,  and  of  the  helpless 
prospect  that  was  before  them  under  his  successor.     Pass- 
ing over  his  own  great  trouble  with  much  self-denial,  he 
warned  his  hearers  with  impressive  eloquence  to  take  care 
they   gave   the   new  Governor,   His  Excellency  General 
Petronovitch,  no  excuse  for  afflicting  them,  no  reason  for 
professing   to   suspect  their  allegiance    to   the  Czar,   no 
opportunity  for  affording  him  a  hasty  conviction  j  for  they 
knew  how  great  was  his  power,  the  more  so  in  times  of 
political  excitement,  and  in  presence  of  an  active  hostility 
of  the  Orthodox  Christian  against  the  Orthodox  Jew.  The 
reports  which  had  preceded  the  new  Governor  provided 
bin  with  a  character  exactly  the  opposite  from  that  of 
General  Poltava ;  and  the  rabbi  gave  point  to  its  truth  by 


SV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  37 

telling  his  flock  that  he  himself  had  already  had  bitter 
proof  that  neither  in  charity,  religion,  nor  justice  had  they 
anything  to  hope  from  General  Petronovitch.  He  did  not 
say  this  in  any  bitterness  of  spirit ;  he  was  content  to 
leave  himself  to  the  hands  of  God ;  but  he  said  it  that 
they  might  understand  how  they  stood ;  that  the  reign  of 
security  was  at  an  end,  but  that  the  day  of  tribulation 
might  be  at  least  mitigated  by  circumspect  conduct, 
patience,  humility  and  prayer. 


CHAPTER  VL 

A   SENTENCE. 

During  the  remainder  of  the  day,  Czarovna  was  like  a 
place  torn  with  some  internal  calamity,  and  full  of  a  dread 
of  worse  to  come.  To  typify  the  community  as  one  man, 
it  was  as  if  he  was  stricken  with  the  first  symptoms  of  the 
plague,  and  knew  that  his  .hours  were  numbered,  and  that 
he  would  die  in  dreadful  agony.  Police  and  soldiers 
ostentatiously  paraded  the  little  town.  The  Governor 
and  his  staff  took  up  their  quarters  at  the  old  house  of 
the  Ghetto.  "It  is  on  the  scene  of  hostilities,"  said 
Petronovitch,  '*  and  will  serve  as  a  convenient  court  of 
justice ;  for  we  must  needs  have  prisoners.  Unless  these 
cursed  Jews  give  up  the  murderer,  Ferrari,  they  shall 
smart  for  it ;  he  cannot  have  left  Czarovna  ;  he  is  in 
hiding.  I  will  whip  every  cursed  man  and  woman  of 
them,  but  I  will  have  the  ruffian  they  are  concealing." 

Anna  was  permitted  her  liberty  on  condition  that  she 
held  no  communication  with  her  father  or  with  Losinski. 
Petronovitch  had  her  watched  in  the  hope  that  she  might 
unconsciously  lead  them  to  their  quarry.  How  could  she 
«bey  the  Governor's  inhuman  order  !     The  sentinels  who 


38  BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

guarded  her  father  in  an  upper  room  of  his  house  prevented 
her  from  seeing  him  ;  but  there  was  no  officer  to  bar  her 
way  to  the  humble  lodging  of  Losinski,  whither  she  flew 
for  counsel  and  advice. 

"  Oh,  if  we  could  but  leave  this  place  !  "  she  said.  "  If 
my  father  gave  them  all  he  possesses,  would  they  release 
him  and  give  us  our  liberty  to  go  forth  and  starve  ?  " 

*'  Be  comforted,  my  dearest,"  said  Losinski,  "  we  have 
only  one  resource,  our  Heavenly  Father." 

•'  But  will  He  hear  us  ?  Oh,  will  He  hearken  to  our 
prayers  ?  " 

She  was  distraught,  the  poor  child — mad  with  fear,  and 
with  a  dread  she  dared  not  speak  of  Petronovitch  had 
addressed  her  in  soft,  if  not  kindly  words.  She  would 
rather  he  had  spat  upon  her. 

"  God  will  surely  help  us,"  said  the  rabbi ;  "  it  cannot  be 
that  so  much  true  religion,  such  a  good  and  honorable  life 
as  your  father's,  shall  not  find  approval  in  His  sight  and 
therefore  protection  ;  and  it  cannot  be  that  such  love  as 
He  has  permitted  me  to  be  blessed  withal  shall  be 
blighted." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  love,"  exclaimed  Anna,  "  I  sometimes  fear 
we  are  not  His  chosen :  that  after  all  we  did  crucify  Him 
whom  we  should  have  accepted  !  " 

"  Nay,  Anna,  thou  art  beside  thyself  1 " 

"  Surely  I  am,"  she  replied,  wringing  her  hands  ;  "  pass- 
ing the  great  crucifix  by  the  church,  it  seemed  to  me  as 
if  the  eyes  of  Him  in  His  agony  sought  mine,  and  that  He 
pitied  me." 

"  For  God's  sake,  Anna,  no  more  of  this,  lest  the  judg- 
ment of  Heaven  fall  straight  upon  us." 

"  Say  not  *  lest  it  fall,'  dear  love,"  said  Anna  ;  "  surely 
it  has  fallen.  I  am  homeless,  ray  father  a  prisoner,  and  I 
am  going  mad,  for  I  know  they  will  take  thee  from  me. 
Hark  !  they  are  coming  1  " 


BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  39 

She  fell  fainting  into  his  arms,  and  as  he  laid  her  upon  a 
seat  and  called  the  woman  of  the  house,  the  police  knocked 
at  the  door  and  entered. 

"  You  are  my  prisoner — come  !  "  said  the  first  officer. 

**  What  is  my  offence  ?  "  asked  Losinski. 

"  No  words,"  said  the  officer,  laying  a  rough  hand  upon 
him,  "come  1 " 

Losinski  was  hurried  before  the  Governor,  who  attacked 
him  v/ith  brutal  effrontery  as  "a  conspirator,  a  traitor,  a 
cursed  Jew ; "  and  repeating  the  very  words  of  caution 
Losinski  had  used  in  addressing  his  flock  :  "  I  am  cruel,  am 
I  ?  I  am  not  the  weak  fool  your  previous  Governor  was,  eh  ? 
No  justice  or  charity  is  to  be  expected  from  me  ?  You 
denounce  the  faithful  servant  of  His  Imperial  Majesty  to 
your  people,  do  you  ?  You  would  foment  a  rebellion, 
would  you  ?  Speak,  Jew,  what  have  you  to  say  ?  " 

"  Arraign  me  before  the  judges  in  open  court  and  let  me 
know  the  charge  you  bring  against  me,  and  I  shall  know 
how  to  defend  myself."  * 

"  I  do  arraign  you  now,  before  this  Court  Martial,  this 
Council  of  War,"  said  the  General,  waving  his  hand  so  as 
to  indicate  his  staff,  who  bowed  their  hands  with  the 
submissiveness  of  slaves.  "  Do  you  deny  the  truth  of 
what  I  allege  ?  You  shall  see  that  I  am  just  if  I  am  severe, 
as  it  behoves  justice  to  be  in  these  days  of  conspiracy 
and  rebellion.     Stand  forth,  you  Judas,  there  !  " 

He  named  him  well — the  witness — for  he  was  a  member 
of  Losinski's  flock — a  half  imbecile,  God-forsaken  wretch, 
whom  the  police  had  suborned  by  threats  and  money  to 
betray  the  rabbi. 

"  You  heard  the  Losinski  warn  his  flock  against  me,  the ' 
Governor,  appointed  by  our  holy  father,  the  Czar?" 

"  I  did,"  said  the  witness. 

"  He  said  they  might  neither  expect  justice  nor  charitj 
from  me  ?  " 


40  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  poor  creature. 

"You  hear,  Jew?  You  shall  see  how  just  I  am,  how 
generous  are  my  brother  councillors.  What  haVe  you  to 
say  ?  " 

"  May  I  ask  your  witness,  my  unhappy  brother,  a  ques- 
tion?" 

**  You  may." 

"  Did  I  advise  anything  but  gentle  submission  to  the 
new  Governor — a  careful  observance  of  the  law  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  wretch.     "  Oh,  God  forgive  me  !  '* 

"Stand  up,  Judas,"  said  the  Governor.  "  That  meant, 
*Be  careful  how  you  rebel,  but  rebel ;  don't  do  it  in  the 
open  day  light;  but  the  Governor  Petronovitch  is 
unworthy  of  his  position;  he  is  a  tyrant.  His  Imperial 
Majesty  has  sent  amongst  you  an  unjust  and  cruel  officer  ; 
rebel  against  him,  but  have  a  care,  do  it  secretly.'  You, 
Losinski,  are  a  cut-throat  Jew — a  rebel,  a  traitor  to  the 
State — and  for  this  I  will  make  an  example  of  you.  You 
*are  condemned  to  receive  fifty  blows  of  the  knout  in  the 
public  place  of  execution  I  Officers,  remove  him  and  let  his 
punishment  take  place  with  all  convenient  speed ;  direct 
the  Commander  of  the  District  Prison  to  attend  us  at  the 
Palace  of  the  Government  within  the  hour." 

Losinski  staggered  under  the  sentence  and  turned  pale 
to  the  very  lips. 

"  Mercy  !  mercy  !  "  he  cried  ;  "  do  not  condemn  me  on 
the  evidence  of  a  miserable  wretch  such  as  this." 

He  pointed  to  the  suborned  witness  as  he  spoke,  and 
the  poor  creature  turned  away  his  head  and  sobbed. 

"  Why  ask  me  for  mercy,"  said  the  Governor  with  a 
cruel  sneer,  "  since  I  am  a  tyrant,  without  pity,  without 
remorse  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  say  so,"  the  rabbi  replied,  "  and  whatever  I 
said  was  in  the  cause  of  peace." 

"  It  is  in  the  same  cause  that  thou  art  condemned.** 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  4I 

"  Great  God  I "  exclaimed  the  rabbi,  casting  his  eyes 
upwards,  "  help  rae,  for  Thy  name's  sake — for  her  sake, 
for  the  sake  of  Thy  poor  servant,  Anna ! " 

"  Away  with  him  !  "  exclaimed  the  Governor,  and  the 
next  moment  the  rabbi,  beside  himself  with  grief  and 
terror,  was  dragged  into  the  street. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  KNOUT. 

Capital  punishment  is  abolished  in  Russia,  but  there  are 
tortures  worse  than  death,  and  there  are  deaths  from  star- 
vation and  cruelty  in  Russian  prisons  far  more  numerous 
than  the  decapitations  in  France  and  the  hangings  in  ¥a\- 
gland.  What  English  punishments  were  two  hundred 
years  ago  Russian  tortures  are  now  and  worse,  and  they 
are  conducted  with  an  hypocrisy  that  is  wholly  Russian. 
The  truth  is,  according  to  more  than  one  historian  and 
commentator,  strangulation,  crucifixion,  the  gallows  and 
decapitation  were  considered  too  mild  for  salutary  influence 
on  criminals  and  political  offenders.  The  Russian  legisla- 
tors, therefore,  invented  other  deterrent  instruments  to 
keep  the  people  straight  j  the  rod,  the  whip,  the  knout,  and 
the  mutilation  of  the  face  were  introduced,  but  frequently 
only  as  supplementary  to  the  deadly  mines  of  Siberia. 

In  the  entire  language  of  civilization  it  is  maintained 
that  there  is  no  word  which  conveys  an  idea  of  more 
cruelty,  more  superhuman  suffering,  than  is  conveyed  by 
the  Russian  word,  knout.  To  hear  it  in  Russia  is  to 
shudder ;  and  it  is  all  the  more  terrible  that  the  punish- 
ment of  the  knout  does  not  necessarily  mean  death.  If 
the  friends  of  the  victim  have  influence  enough  or  suffi- 
cient money  to  bribe  the  executioner  to  kill  the  condemned. 


40  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

then  it  means  death,  but  this  is  not  a  mercy  always 
obtainable. 

Anna  met  the  minions  of  the  Council  dragging  her  lover 
to  the  prison  of  the  District  Court,  for  Losinski  was  more 
dead  than  alive.  He  was  no  coward,  but  he  knew  what 
the  knout  meant.  His  very  blood  had  frozen  at  the  sen- 
tence. For  the  moment  he  even  forgot  Anna,  only  think- 
ing of  the  horror  of  his  situation.  He  had  seen  the 
administration  of  the  knout  more  than  once  in  St.  Peters- 
burg ;  he  had  seen  the  half-naked  victims  strapped  upon 
the  machine  so  tightly  that  it  seemed  impossible  that  the 
body  could  move  so  much  as  a  hair's  breadth,  and  yet 
with  the  skin  as  tight  as  racking  screws  could  make  it,  to 
the  very  dislocation  of  the  bones,  the  wretch  would  bound 
under  the  very  first  blow.  Losinski  seemed  to  see  himself 
undergoing  the  torture,  and  he  had  fought  his  captors  with 
the  vigor  of  a  wild  despair.  When  Anna  came  upon 
the  grim  procession  he  had  simply  collapsed  ;  they  were 
dragging  along  a  inan  half-dead  with  fright  and  wholly 
insensible. 

It  had  been  some  little  time  before  the  rabbi's  people 
had  made  Anna  understand  why  at  parting  Losinski  had 
so  solemnly  commended  her  to  God.  When  she  realized 
what  had  happened,  when  she  knew  that  he  was  a  pri- 
soner, she  rushed  out  with  no  other  intention  at  the 
moment  than  to  find  him. 

"  Be  calm,"  said  an  old  man,  standing  in  her  way,^'  be 
calm." 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  A  friend,"  said  the  stranger. 

"  I  have  never  seen  you  before." 

'•  Yes,  you  have.     Let  me  whisper  a  word  to  you.'* 

She  bent  her  head. 

"  Thank  God,"  she  exclaimed,  in  answer  to  the  whis- 
pered word. 


ffV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  ^  43 

Almost  immediately  a  little  group  of  anxious  people 
had  gathered  round  them,  mostly  Jews,  though  there  were 
several  mujiks  in  their  sheepskin  jackets  standing  in  the 
roadway. 

«'  What  shall  I  do  ?  "  Anna  exclaimed,  pressing  her  hand 
upon  her  heart,  and  trying  to  prevent  herself  from  uttering 
a  cry  of  anguish. 

"  Go  to  the  Governor,"  said  a  neighbor,  "  ana  fling 
yourself  at  his  feet;  the  rabbi  is  condemned  to  the 
knout ! " 

"  Oh,  great  God  !  "  gasped  the  wretched  girl.  "  Oh, 
Father  in  heaven,  thou  wilt  not  desert  him,  Thy  servant  I 
Oh,  merciful  God." 

She  staggered,  and  would  have  fallen,  but  for  the  old 
man  who  had  been  the  first  to  accost  her. 

Almost  as  suddenly  as  she  had  given  way  she  seemed 
to  recover  herself. 

"  This  is  no  time  for  tears,"  she  said,  wiping  her  face 
with  her  handkerchief,  "what  shall  I  do?  Advise  me, 
friend." 

She  addressed  the  old  man,  who,  leaning  upon  his  staff, 
surveyed  the  scene  with  much  apparent  composure. 

"  There  is  only  one  way,"  exclaimed  the  neighbor  who 
had  previously  spoken  ;  "  the  Governor  is  in  your  father's 
house,  go  to  him,  plead  for  the  rabbi,  offer  all  the  money 
you  have  for  his  release,  make  any  bargain,  but  waste  no 
time  ! " 

"  You  are  right,"  said  the  girl ;  "  I  will  go." 

Without  another  word  she  pushed  her  way  through  the 
throng,  and  hurried  homewards,  to  meet  the  terrible  pro- 
cession. The  old  man  was  at  her  elbow,  so  also  were 
several  of  her  neighbors.  Seeing  Losinski,  Anna  rushed 
in  among  the  soldiers  and  flung  herself  upon  their  prisoner; 
only,  however,  to  be  thrust  back  again  among  her  friends, 

"  Oh,  my  love  !  "  she  cried.  "  Merciful  God  1  will  no 
one  protect  us  ?  "  . 


44  ,.  SY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

"  Go  to  the  Governor,"  said  the  neighbors,  "praylto 
him ;  kneel  to  him." 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  said,  all  her  efforts  to, be  calm  availing 
her  but  little,  the  danger  having  been  so  suddenly  revealed, 
the  catastrophe  so  overwhelming. 

"  Where  is  my  father  ?  "  she  asked,  addressing  the  old 
man. 

"  Nay,  I  know  not ;  a  prisoner,  I  believe." 

"  In  his  own  house,"  said  the  neighbor,  "  or  was  ;  where 
he  may  be  now  who  shall  say  ?  " 

"  I  shall  ?o  mad,"  exclaimed  Anna. 

"  Daughter,  be  calm,  everything  depends  on  that  I  " 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  she  replied ;  "  I  will." 

"  You  are  going  to  the  Governor  ?  " 

"Yes." 

**  Take  this,"  he  said  in  a  whisper ;  "  you  may  need  it ; 
hide  it  in  your  bosom." 

She  took  it ;  it  was  a  knife. 

"  There  is  a  dishonor  worse  than  death,"  he  said,  **  and 
it  is  lawful  to  kill  in  self-defence  ;  daughter  of  a  despised 
but  noble  race,  be  worthy  of  your  father,  be  worthy  of 
your  lover  ! " 

"  I  will,"  said  Anna,  her  form  no  longer  trembling,  her 
hand  firm,  her  teeth  set,  a  great  resolve  in  hdr  heart. 

"  Tell  him  that  you  and  yours  are  willing  to  go  forth 
penniless,  that  he  is  welcome  to  all  you  possess,  that  you 
will  show  him  your  father's  store,  and  that  Joel  Rubenstein, 
the  rich  banker  of  Moscow,  shall  indemnify  his  future  in  a 
hoard  of  wealth  he  little  dreams  of.  You  are  strong 
now?'*. 

"Yes." 

"Go,  my  child  1" 

When  she  arrived  at  her  father's  house,  the  Governor 
had  gone  to  the  palace  of  the  Government,  his  new  home, 
and  had  left  instruotions  that  the  commander  of  the  prison 


JPK  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  45 

should  attend  him  there*  The  officer  on  duty  informed 
her  that  she  was  to  have  full  permission  to  remain  in  her 
father's  house  or  leave  it;  that  no  restraint  was  to  be 
placed  on  her  liberty,  except  that  she  could  have  no  inter- 
view with  her  father. 

"  I  must  see  the  Governor,"  she  said. 

"  You  know  the  way  to  the  palace,"  said  the  attendant. 
She  did ;  and  she  at  once  directed  her  steps  thither. 

Down  the  long  street  of  the  Ghetto,  over  the  bridge 
where  Ferrari  had  prepared  to  sell  his  life  dearly,  across 
the  plain,  over  the  uplands  and  through  the  piece  of  forest 
where  she  had  walked  with  her  father  in  happy  days  to  join 
him  in  paying  his  respects  to  General  Poltava  and  Her 
Excellency  his  amiable  wife,  the  distance  from  Czarovna 
was  about  a  couple  of  English  miles. 

It  was  now  nearly  an  hour  after  noon.  Winter  and 
summer  are  sudden  incidents  in  Russia  ;  one  day  the  land 
is  snowbound,  the  next  there  is  a  great  thaw,  the  next  is 
the  beginning  of  summer  :  on  this  sad  day  the  last  of  the 
snow  had  disappeared,  the  swollen  river  ran  merrily  along 
its  sedgy  course,  and  the  sun  was  shining  brightly  in  a 
blue  sky. 

A  mile  beyond  the  bridge  a  horseman  accosted  her ;  he 
was  attended  by  several  servants. 

"  You  are  the  daughter  of  the  merchant  Klosstock  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  We  have  met  before ;  I  know  your  father ;  I  have 
heard  what  has  happened ;  I  desire  to  assist  you,  but  I  fear 
it  is  impossible.     I  am  the  Count  Stravensky." 

''  Oh,  thank  your  highness ;  my  father  is  a  prisoner  in 
his  own  house,  my  betrothed,  the  learned  and  beloved 
rabbi,  is  condemned  to  the  knout  I  am  going  to  the 
Governor  to  throw  myself  at  his  feet  and  beg  for  mercy." 

The  noble  boyar  looked  upon  the  girl  with  a  world  of 
compassion  in  his  brown  eyes  j  her  hair  w  <s  falling  all 


46  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

about  her  pale  handsome  face,  her  eyes  were  red  with 
weeping. 

"I  have  just  now  ventured  to  say  to  His  Excellency  the 
Governor  all  I  kpow  that  is  good  of  all  of  you,"  said  the 
count,  "  and  hope  you  may  be  successful ;  but  I  fear,  my 
poor  girl,  I  fear — and  there  is  no  lady  at  the  old  house  so 
recently  adorned  by  Her  Excellency  the  Lady  Poltava  to 
soften  the  discipline  of  the  place.  Are  you  not  afraid  to 
trust  yourself  alone  there?" 

**  I  am  alone  in  the  'w.orld  ;  I  have  no  one  belonging  to 
me  now ;  two  days  ago  I  was  the  happiest  of  God's  crea- 
tures." 

"  And  they  called  you  Queen  of  the  Ghetto.  Heaven 
help  you  !  Would  that  I  could  I  You  are  not  afraid  to  go 
alone,  you  say  ?  I  have  the  Governor's  permission  to 
speak  with  your  father  j  that  is  why  I  am  now  riding  into 
Czarovna.  But  I  will  return  and  go  to  the  Governor  with 
you  if  you  think " 

"  No,  no,  go  to  my  father,  dear  sir,  thank  your  highness ; 
my  loneliness  may  be  the  best  appeal  to  the  Governor  than 
even  your  kind  aid ;  and  my  father  needs  comfort.  Tell 
him  I  am  well ;  that  I  am  free ;  and  oh,  conjure  him  to 
buy  his  own  and  the  rabbi's  liberty  if  money  will  buy  it ; 
and  if  not  " — lifting  her  head  high  for  the  first  time — "  tell 
him  we  will  die  together  !  " 

"  I  will  say  so,"  the  count  replied,  not  without  emotion, 
"  and  if  I  can  be  of  any  service  to  you — I  fear  my  influ- 
ence is  not  great — command  me." 

And  they  went  on  their  several  ways,  Anna  running  to 
make  up  for  this  short  delay,  the  count  turning  upon  his 
horse  to  look  back  after  her. 

"  What  a  lovely  creature  !"  he  said  to  himself,  "brave 
as  she  is  lovely  and  good  as  she  is  brave  !  Is  it  wise  to 
permit  her  to  sec  Petronovitch  unattended  ?  " 

"  God  be  with  you  1 "  said  the  old  man  who  had  spoken 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  0 

with  Anna  in  the  street,  and  who  had  followed  her  through 
the  Ghetto,  over  the  bridge  and  out  upon  the  plain  much 
more  briskly  than  his  age  and  staff  would  have  seemed 
possible. 

"  And  with  you,  friend,"  said  the  count.  "  I  had  not 
observed  you;  where  did  you  spring  from?" 

"  Your  attendants  are  out  of  hearing?  " 

"  They  are." 

The  old  man  uttered  a  password  and  gave  a  sign.  The 
count,  beckoning  to  an  attendant,  requested  his  retinue 
to  ride  into  Czarovna,  and  await  him  at  the  house  of 
Klosstock,  the  Jew. 

"  You  were  pitying  ^^nna." 

"  The  Queen  of  the  Ghetto  ?  "  said  the  count.  "  Is  it 
not  so  she  is  called?" 

"  By  those  who  desire  to  compliment  her  and  her  fatner  s 
position,"  said  the  old  man,  "  yes ;  but  to-day  she  is  de- 
throned, and  her  kingdom  is  like  to  be  in  ruins.  There  is 
no  time  to  stand  on  ceremony,  Sir  Count.  I  gave  you  a 
sign  and  a  word." 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Is  it  well  ?  "  said  the  old  man. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  these  Jewish  people,"   said  the  count. 

"  You  encourage  me.  You  are  sorry  for  your  country 
also?" 

*•  Say  on,  but  do  not  forget  that  the  very  trees  and  stones 
have  ears  and  tongues  in  these  days." 

"  And  I  will  trust  you,"  said  the  old  man.  "  I  am  An- 
drea Ferrari.  I  bring  messages  for  you  if  I  think  it  wise 
to  deliver  them.  The  brethren  did  not  quite  know  how 
to  regard  you." 

"  Since  you  have  placed  yourself  in  my  hands,  were  I 
otherwise  than  their  friend  I  respond  to  your  trust—confi- 
dence for  confidence.  You  have  had  a  narrow  escape ; 
your  peril-is  by  no  means  over." 


4$  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

"  I  am  not  thinking  of  myself,  but  of  these  poor  people  j 
more  particularly  this  girl,  her  father,  and  the  rabbi.  Can 
anything  be  done  for  them  ?  " 

"  I  fear  me  not.  Petronovitch  is  cruel  by  nature  and 
by  policy ;  Poltava  is  in  disgrace  for  his  leniency ;  and 
your  arrest,  the  death  of  one  of  the  Emperor's  officers  at 
your  hands,  and  in  the  Jew's  house,  so  entirely  justifies  the 
change  of  Governors  and  policy  that  Petronovitch  is  mas- 
ter of  the  situation,  and  will  be  encouraged  to  take  a  big 
revenge.  We  are  under  martial  law,  and  he  hates  the 
Jews  ;  indeed,  it  is  hard  to  say  whom  he  loves." 

"  I  will  follow  the  girl  Anna,"  said  the  old  man  \  "  good 
day.  Sir  Count." 

"y^//  revoir /'^  responded  the  count.  "Let  us  meet 
soon." 

It  was  wonderful  with  what  rapidity  the  old  man,  our 
unfortunate  friend  Ferrari,  got  over  the  ground.  He  soon 
disappeared  in  the  wood  ;  and  meanwhile  Count  Straven- 
sky  cantered  into  the  town  of  Czarovna,  which  he  found 
under  the  influence  of  strange  and  disturbing  incident!!. 


CHAPTER  Vin. 

THE  AWFUL  NEWS  THAT  CAME  TO   CZAROVNA. 

Within  the  few  months  previous  to  the  change  of  Gov- 
ernors in  the  province  of  Vilnavitch,  the  chief  towns  and 
villages  of  Southern  Russia  were  ablaze  with  riot,  violence, 
and  bloodshed.  In  the  provinces  of  Cherson,  Ekaterin- 
solav,  Poltawa,  Taurida  Kiew,  Czeringow,  and  Podolia 
there  had  spread  like  wildfire  the  idea  that  the  Jews  and 
their  property  had  been  handed  over  to  the  tender  mercies 
of  the  populace,  an  idea  that  seemed  almost  justified  by 
the  inertness  of  the  Governor-General  in  bis  treatment  of 
the  riots  at  Elizabethgrad  and  Kiew. 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  49 

The  Times  in  London  made  a  statement  to  this  effect, 
and  gave  particulars  of  some  of  the  outrages  ;  and  London 
knew  more  about  what  was  going  on  in  the  unhappy  towns 
of  Southern  Russia  than  was  known  even  a  few  miles  from 
them.  And  no  wonder  that  the  news  traveled  tardily  to 
Czarovna,  for  here  neither  Jews  nor  Christians  interested 
themselves  in  political  or  other  affairs  outside  their  own 
town,  which  was  a  model  of  good  government  and  excep- 
tional in  its  general  contentment.  Several  towns  had  been 
wrecked,  many  a  Jewish  woman  outraged,  many  a  poor 
Jev/  slaughtered,  before  the  full  importance  of  the  awful 
tidings  reached  Czarovna,  the  first  agents  of  trouble  arriving 
in  the  prosperous  town  on  the  very  night  of  the  attempted 
arrest  of  Ferrari.  .        . 

In  each  instance  of  the  risings,  agents  had  arrived  in 
the  towns  with  copies  of  an  alleged  ukase  empowering  His 
Imperial  Majesty's  orthodox  subjects  to  seize  all  the  pro- 
perty of  the  Jews  and  put  down  all  resistance  of  the 
transfer.  The  mayor  of  one  town  actually  read  this  pro- 
clamation in  public,  and  the  place  was  only  saved  by  the 
wisdom  and  courag  J  of  the  chief  priest,  who  denounced 
the  ukase  as  a  forgery  and  forbade  the  townspeople  to  act 
upon  it ;  but  at  many  other  towns  and  villages  near  by  it 
was  literally  interpreted,  and  the  property  of  the  Jews  was 
taken  over,  in  some  cases  partly  destroyed,  and  the  transfer 
accompanied  with  barbarities  and  ruffianisms  unknown  in 
this  age  outside  Russia.  Children  were  roasted  alive. 
Women  \^re  outraged  in  the  presence  of  their  offspring. 
Men  were  murdered  ruthlessly  and  without  giving  the 
victims  a  chance  of  defence.  At  one  pliace  women  appeared 
among  the  assailants  and  assisted  the  men  in  their  devilish 
orgies  and  crimes.  But  it  is  not  within  the  province  of 
this  narrative  to  enter  into  the  details  of  these  bairbarisms, 
which  are  duly  recorded  in  the  newspapers  of  the  time. 

The  statistics  of  the  terror  are  appalling,  and  the  worst 

4 


5©  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

feature  of  the  whole  affair  was  the  barbarities  committed 
against  the  Jewish  women ;  even  the  Czar's  commanding 
officer?,  seeming  to  think  the  honor  and  lives  of  the  poor 
creatures  of  no  account,  so  small  were  the  efforts  which  they 
made  to  temper  the  brutalities  of  the  rioters,  who  were  fre- 
quently supported  and  aided  by  the  soldiers  and  police.  The 
latest  phase  of  the  blind  passions  of  the  Christian  Russians 
was  that  of  arson.  So  common  did  the  vengeance  of  fire 
become  that  the  mujiks  gave  it  the  name  of  the  red  cock. 
This  is  the  technical  term  of  the  peasants  fof  the  deliberate 
firing  of  towns.  The  red  cock  crowed  over  many  a  Jewish 
place  of  settlement ;  and  within  the  short  time  of  the  riots, 
which  came  to  an  end  only  at  Czarovna,  a  hundred  thou- 
sand Jewish  families  were  homeless,  and  their  property,  to 
the  extent  of  sixteen  million  pounds,  either  taken  from 
them  or  destroyed.  And  the  date  of  these  events  was  not 
later  than  1881. 

There  was  one  beautiful  exception  to  the  generality  of  the 
success  of  the  ukase.  It  was  a  small  unsophisticated  town, 
something  like  Czarovna  ;  the  Christians  called  upon  their 
Jewish  neighbors  and  warned  them  of  what  was  going  on, 
telling  them  that  the  agents  and  rioters  from  an  adjacent 
village  which  had  been  sacked  were  coming  on  to  them, 
and  saying,  "  Now  if  it  is  true  that  the  Emperor  has  given 
your  property  over  to  his  orthodox  subjects  it  will  be 
better  for  you  to  let  your  neighbors  take  it  than  have  it 
wrested  from  you  by  strangers,  and  if  the  ukase  is  not  true 
we  can  hand  you  your  property  back  again."  So  when 
the  band  of  thieves  and  rioters  came  to  that  town  they 
found  the  Christian  inhabitants  already  in  possession  of 
their  neighbors'  houses,  shops,  and  goods.  In  this  instance 
the  demon  of  blood  and  fire  and  plunder  was  outwitted  j  he 
had  to  pass  on,  and  in  due  course  the  Jews  got  their  pro- 
perty back  again. 

The  Government  took  no  action  in  denying  the  forged 


B  BORDER'  OF  THE  CZAR:  5 1 

ukase,  but  after  the  outbreaks  if^ issued  a  Commission  of 
Inquiry  in  such  form  and  •  with  such  instructions  as  made 
the  persecution  of  the  Jews  seem  justifiable  ;  and  such 
added  restrictions  have  followed  the  commission  that  the 
Rus  so-Jewish  question  is  summed  up  by  a  great  publicist 
of  the  day  in  these  words  :  "  Are  three  and  a  half  millions 
of  human  beings  to  perish  because  they  are  Jews  ?  "  The 
answer,  judged  by  the  present  active  policy  in  Russia,  is 
"  Yes." 

All  of  which  the  present  narrator  hopes  will  not  discount 
the  reader's  interest  in  the  house  of  Klosstock  and  the 
doomed  community  of  Czarovna,  whence  by-and-bye  we 
shall  travel  to  London,  there  to  pick  up  other  human 
interests  and  human  fates,  that  are  strangely  linked  with 
such  of  the  actors  in  these  opening  scenes  as  may  not  fall 
victims  to  the  lust  and  greed  of  their  assailants,  and  the 
tyrannical  and  cruel  despotism  of  the  Government. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  CRY  OF  A  BROKEN  HEART. 

General  Petronovitch  had  finished  a  hasty  meal,  and 
was  smoking  a  cigar  over  some  heavy  red  wine,  when  Anna 
was  announced. 

**  The  Jew  merchant's  daughter,"  said  his  military 
servant  **  I  told  her  you  could  not  give  audience  to  any- 
one." 

'*  You  are  a  fool  ! " 

**  Yes,  your  Highness,"  said  the  man  j  "  I  said  I  would 
inquire  if  you  had  leisure." 

"  Admit  her  ;  see  that  we  are  not  disturbed." 

The  man  withdrew.  The  General  smiled  and  drained  a 
tumbler  to  the  dregs. 

"  By  the  mass,  a  pleasant  encounter ;  I  would  not  have 


53  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

wished  for  a  more  agreeable  visit.     She  comes  to  beg  for 
her  lover." 

"  PaulofF,"  he  cried,  ringing  a  bell  which  had  been  placed 
by  the  side  of  his  cigar  box,  "Pauloff." 

The  attendant  returned. 

"  Listen." 

"Yes,  your  Excellency." 

"  If  I  call  you  and  give  you  an  order  to  postpone  the 
punishment  of  the  man  Losinski,  in  presence  of  this  Jew 
girl,  you  will  not  deliver  it.  Do  you  understand  ?  written 
or  verbal,  do  you  understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  your  Excellency.     She  is  here." 

"  Let  her  come  in.  Guard  the  door  without ;  admit  no. 
one." 

The  attendant  bowed,  and  Anna  entered  the  room. 

"  No,  no  ;  you  may  not  kneel  to  me,"  said  Petronovitch, 
advancing  towards  her. 

"  Mercy  for  the  rabbi !  Save  my  father,"  said  Anna.  "  It 
can  be  no  gladness  to  you  to  bring  such  terrible  suffering 
upon  us,  it  can  do  no  good  to  our  great  Emperor ;  better 
it  would  be  to  take  our  money,  our  jewels,  our  property  \ 
that  will  buy  soldiers  clothes,  feed  your  poor,  make  your 
ladies  happy  ;  take  it,  give  us  our  lives  and  liberty — we 
ask  no  more." 

She  was  almost  out  of  breath  with  the  utterance  of  her 
little  speech,  that  she  had  formulated  in  her  despair  as  she 
entered  the  old  palace  of  the  local  government. 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  said  Petronovitch,  and  the 
courteous  words  chilled  her,  "do  not  distress  yourself;  I 
am  not  the  tyrant  your  Losinski  would  make  out ;  but  I  owe 
a  duty  to  my  Imperial  master.  I  do  not  want  your  money, 
nor  does  my  Government ;  we  only  want  peace  and  order. 
We  are  pained  to  find  such  reputable  persons  as  your 
father  harboring  a  conspirator  who,  on  being  arrested,  cut 
the  throat  of  our  Imperial  master's  officer  and  escaped  \f$ 


BV  ORDEH  OF  THE  CZAR.  53 

the  connivance  of  your  father,  the  master  of  the  house ; 
and  when  we  are  in  our  most  generous  mood  of  narrowing 
justice  down  to  the  criminal  only,  and  considering  the 
previous  good  conduct  of  his  associates,  the  rabbi,  a 
learned  and  scholarly  man,  incites  his  flock  against  us  the 
Governor,  and  denounces  us  as  the  corrupt  and  cruel 
agent  of  a  corrupt  and  unjust  Government." 

He  knew  not  what  he  said,  your  Excellency  ! "  Anna 
exclaimed.  "  Oh,  forgive  him — His  Greatness  the  Czar 
has  no  truer  subject ;  mercy  !  oh,  be  merciful !  " 

"  Be  seated,  child,  and  let  us  talk  the  matter  over." 
•  Remaining  standing  until  now,  he  offered  her  a  chair 
and  sat  down  himself. 

**  Do  not  ask  me  to  sit  j  when  I  flew  here  for  succor 
they  were  dragging  the  rabbi  through  the  streets  I  know 
not  where,  and  they  said  he  was  condemned  to  a  punish- 
ment worse  than  death.  Great  God  !  while  I  stand  here  he 
may  be  suffering." 

She  turned  upon  Petronovitch  her  pale,  frightened  face, 
her  eyes  ablaze  with  excitement  and  terror. 

<*  Oh,  sir,  spare  him  !  Hark  !  I  hear  his  voice ;  he  calls 
me — he  is  dying  !  " 

"  This  is  madness  ;  listen,  my  poor  girl,  I  will  spare 
him.    There  !  he  is  saved  !  " 

"  Heaven  bless  you,"  she  cried  and  seized  his  hand  and 
kissed  it.  "  God  will  bless  you.  But  how  is  he  to 
know  you  will  spare  him  ?  How  will  they  know  he  is  to 
be  saved  ?  " 

"  If  you  will  promise  to  be  quiet  and  remain  here,  and 
let  me  know  your  wishes  and  not  distress  yourself,  you 
shall  hear  the  order  given  for  the  postponement  of  his 
punishment,  and  you  shall  yourself  bear  away  with  you  the 
order  for  his  release." 

"  Bless  you,"  said  the  girl,  her  eyes  now  filling  with  tears 
as  she  staggered  to  a  seat. 


54  BY  ORDER  OF   THE  CZAR. 

"  Pauloff,"  called  the  General,  ringing  his  bell.  The 
attendant  entered,  Anna  looked  up. 

"  Pauloff,  bring  me  pen  and  ink." 

Pauloff  went  to  a  cabinet  and  brought  the  writing  mate- 
rials. Petronovitch  wrote  upon  a  sheet  of  paper,  folded  it 
and  handed  it  to  Pauloff  with  these  words — "  An  order  for 
the  postponement  of  the  punishment  of  the  rabbi  Losinski ; 
send  a  messenger  to  the  commander  of  the  prison  forth- 
with." 

Anna  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  wept  tears 
of  joy. 

"  Will  you  read  the  order,  madame  ?  "  said  Petrono- 
vitch, showing  it  to  her. 

**  No,  no,  I  trust  you." 

"  And  the  messenger  will  inform  the  commander  that 
the  order  for  Losinski's  release  shall  follow,  you  under- 
stand?" 

*'  Yes,  your  Excellency,"  the  man  replied,  leaving  the 
room,  Petronovitch  following  and  quietly  raismg  the 
portiere  to  bolt  the  door. 

"  There,  we  are  not  so  black  as  we  are  painted,  are  we  ?  " 
he  said,  approaching  Anna,  jnd  laying  his  hand  upon  her 
shoulder. 

"  You  are  very  merciful,"  she  said. 

Petronovitch  took  a  seat  by  her  side. 

"  And  what  is  to  be  my  reward  for  all  this,  and  the 
much  more  I  am  to  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  Eternal  thanks  and  prayers,  and  the  blessed  conscious- 
ness of  a  great  act  of  charity  !  " 

"Just  so,"  he  said,  his  sensual  face  paling  with  the 
emotion  of  an  unholy  passion.  "And  so  you  are  to 
marty  the  rabbi  ?  " 

*'  Yes,"  said  Anna,  permitting  his  near  approach  without 
a  movement  one  way  or  the  other,  willing,  poor  creature, 
to  submit  to  some  amount  of  insult  for  those  she  loved. 


Sr  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  55 

"  He  is  to  be  envied,"  said  Petronovitch,  stealing  his 
arm  round  her. 

''  Your  Excellency  is  pleased  to  be  merry  after  your  act 
of  goodness,"  Anna  replied. 

*'  I  am  pleased  with  you,  too,  and  I  hope  you  are  not 
displeased  with  me  ?  " 

'*  You  are  very  good  ;  I  owe  you  a  deep  debt  of  grati* 
tude." 

"  It  is  easily  paid,"  he  said,  taking  her  hand  in  his  hot 
grasp. 

"  It  can  never  be  sufficiently  acknowledged,"  she  said, 
now  moving  a  little  way  from  him  ;  "  my  father  and  my 
future  husband  will  never  cease  to  bless  you," 

**  I  prefer  to  be  in  your  thoughts,"  he  said,  his  hot  lips 
close  to  her  own,  "  and  in  your  arms,"  and  he  kissed  her 
roughly,  brutally. 

She  struggled  free  from  his  grasp,  but  did  not  lose  her 
self-control  nor  upbraid  him,  as  he  expected  she  would. 

"  You  propose  too  much  honor  for  a  poor  Jewess  ;  pray 
now,  sir,  permit  me  to  withdraw,"  was  all  she  said. 

"  You  are  worthy  of  an  emperor,"  he  said :  "  no  Chris- 
tian is  more  beautiful." 

"  But  your  Excellency  knows  I  am  to  be  married  to  one 
of  my  own  people." 

She  would  not  allow  him  to  think  for  a  moment  that  she 
believed  he  intended  anything  more  than  to  make  love  to 
her  with  a  view  to  marriage.  "You  may  not  marry  a 
Jewess,  be  she  ever  so  wealthy." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  may,"  he  said  ,  "  we  are  not  so  particular 
when  beauty  is  in  the  case — such  beauty  as  yours." 

She  retreated  before  him ;  he  followed  her. 

"  I  frighten  you.  Nay,  let  us  talk  about  that  release  j 
I  have  only  to  write  it." 

She  stood  still  and  allowed  him  to  approach  her  ;  she 
permitted  him  to  take  her  hand  ;  he  led  her  to  a  couch  of 
skins. 


56  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAk. 

"  Now  let  me  go,  dear  sir,"  she  said,  in  her  gentlest 
voice,  "  and  I  will  come  again  to  morrow," 

"  You  make  me  jealous  of  the  very  man  I  am  about  to 
release,"  he  said,  his  arm  about  her  waist  once  more. 

*'  Let  me  see  him  free,"  she  said,  her  heart  beating, 
every  nerve  strained  with  fear  and  apprehension,  "  and 
I  will  come  to  you  the  next  moment." 

"  Nay,  my  darling,  I  cannot  spare  you,"  he  said  rough- 
ly, taking  her  into  his  arms  and  half  stifling  her,  his  hot 
breath  upon  her  cheek,  but  the  next  moment  she  was  free, 
and  the  knife  Ferrari  had  given  her  flashing  abo"  e  her  head, 
the  fire  of  a  tigress  in  her  eyes. 

"  Let  me  go,  or  call  in  your  servant  to  carry  out  my 
corpse." 

For  a  second  Petronovitch  was  checked.  But  he  was 
not  daunted,  either  by  the  knife  or  by  Anna's  threats, 
though  he  pretended  to  be. 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  said.  "  I  had  an  idea  that  you 
Jewish  girls  were  kind  and  generous.  I  had  no  idea 
you  carried  such  formidable  greetings  for  lovers  as  that. 
We  are  to  know  more  of  each  other  before  we  are  friends  ? 
Well,  so  be  it.  Forgive  me,  and  I  forgive  you.  Put  up 
your  knife,  and  keep  your  promise,  for  I  am  now  going  to 
put  your  word  to  the  test — the  moment  you  see  him  free, 
you  will  come  to  me  ?  " 

"I  said  so,"  Anna  replied,  off  her  guard  and  replacing 
her  knife  in  her  bosom,  as  Petronovitch  took  up  his  pen  to 
write  the  order  for  Losinski's  release. 

But  Anna  had  not  gauged  the  fiendish  deceit  of  the  man 
she  had  hoped  to  content  with  such  complaisance  as  she 
had  struggled  to  permit  herself  in  her  desperate  case. 

"  I  give  you  my  word,"  he  said,  "  I  will  not  molest  you. 
Be  seated.  I  only  now  desire  to  have  your  rabbi  released 
that  I  may  see  how  you  ladies  of  the  chosen  people  keep 
your  word." 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  ff. 

Entirely  accepting  this  view  of  the  case  as  the  denoue- 
ment of  her  visit,  Anna  sat  down  and  calmly  awaited  the 
order  for  her  lover's  release. 

Petronovitch,  having  written,  read  it  to  her,  and  as 
she  held  out  her  hand  for  it  he  flung  his  arms  round  her, 
snatched  the  knife  from  her  bosom,  and  at  the  moment 
that  angry  voices  were  heard  in  altercation  at  the  door 
(one  of  them  the  voice  of  Ferrari),  he  dragged  her  into  an 
adjoining  room,  where  the  crash  of  a  heavy  door  closing 
behind  her  silenced — except,  let  us  hope,  for  heaven — the 
cry  of  a  broken  heart. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE    DEATH-BLOW    OF   THE    KNOUT. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  curse  of  the  Lord  had  fallen  upon  the 
house  of  Klosstock  and  upon  all  the  chosen  of  Czarovna. 
The  light  was  suddenly  gone  out.  That  good  Providence 
which  for  years  had  watched  over  the  ghetto  now  turned 
from  it,  and  there  fell  upon  it  the  winter  of  misery,  perse- 
cution and  death.  They  bowed  them  to  the  east  and 
prayed  for  succor,  and  there  came  fire  and  sword  from  the 
west. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night  when  Anna  was  held  in  a 
terrible  bondage  Nathan  Klosstock  was  fettered  and  re- 
moved. Morning  saw  him  on  his  way  to  the  House  of 
Preventive  Detention  at  St.  Petersburg,  gn  route  for  what 
is  called  administrative  exile  This  kind  of  captivity  has 
for  the  authorities  none  of  the  inconveniences  of  public  or 
even  private  trial.  The  prisoner  disappears  from  the 
world.  Neither  friend  nor  foe  may  know  him  again.  It  is 
possible  for  his  identity  to  be  as  thoroughly  wiped  out  in 
this  way  as  if  he  were  secretly  murdered  and  buried  in  an 
unknown  grave.     He  has  been  changed  from  a  man  into  a 


5S  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

number,  from  a  human  being  into  a  caged  animal.  If 
Heaven  is  merciful,  he  will,  in  a  little  time,  be  attacked  with 
some  fatal  disease,  and  so  be  released  from  the  benevolen  t 
judicature  of  the  only  country  which  has  abolished  capital 
punishment — abolished  it  as  a  fiend  might,  with  his  forked 
tongue  in  his  cheek. 

And  when  that  same  morning  broke  upon  Czarovna,  in 
the  Province  of  Vilnavitch,  Heaven  appeared  to  be  more 
than  angry  with  its  servant,  Klosstock,  and  its  minister, 
the  learned  Losinski,  for  it  made  its  sun  to  shine  gloriously 
throughout  the  land.  The  radiant  ruler  of  the  day  lighted 
up  the  gruesome  procession  that  formed  and  marched  from 
the  district  prison  to  the  place  of  punishment. 

The  platform  of  the  executioner  was  set  up  opposite  the 
barracks  of  the  hussars,  and  was  supported  by  a  company 
of  the  Imperial  troops.  In  the  police  cart  Losinski,  half 
naked  and  bound,  was  supported  by  two  gaolers,  and  at 
the  barracks  he  was  literally  handed  to  the  executioner,  for 
he  was  still  in  a  condition  of  mental  and  physical  collapse. 
To  this  extent  God  had  been  kind  to  his  poor  servant, 
who,  despite  his  nobility  of  nature  and  his  intellectual 
strength,  did  not  possess  the  qualifications  for  martyrdom. 

Among  the  crowd  was  Ferrari,  in  the  disguise  of  the 
Moscow  banker,  and  with  the  Moscow  banker's  passport 
in  his  pocket.  It  was  he  whose  voice  was  heard  .at  the 
doors  of  the  Governor  on  the  previous  day,  and  he  had 
had  a  narrow  escape  of  detention ;  but  the  judgment  to 
know  when  to  speak  and  when  to  be  silent,  and  the  discre- 
tion to  know  how  to  use  money  and  when,  had  kept 
Ferrari  free  from  the  hard  hand  of  the  enemy,  though 
neither  his  judgment,  his  discretion,  nor  his  power  had 
enabled  him  to  help  Anna. 

It  was  with  a  heavy  heart  that  he  had  returned  to 
Czarovna  and  communed  with  his  frienu  Moses  Grunstein 
who  had  counselled  him  to  bribe  the  executioner  not  to 


Sr  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  59 

Spare  Losinski,  but  with  merciful  consideration  to  kill  him 
outright. 

Such  as  German  de  Lagny  described  the  punishment  of 
the  knout  twenty  years  ago,  so  is  it  to-day,  for  Russia  is 
singularly  conservative  in  its  Imperial  despotism.  A  man  is 
condemned  to  receive,  say  fifty  or  a  hundred  lashes.  He 
is  dressed  in  a  pair  of  linen  drawers,  his  hands  tied  together, 
the  palms  flat  against  each  other,  and  he  is  laid  upon  his 
face,  on  a  frame  inclined  diagonally,  at  the  extremities  of 
which  are  fixed  iron  rings.  His  hands  are  fastened  to  one 
end  of  the  frame,  his  feet  to  another.  He  is  then  stretched 
in  such  a  way  that  he  cannot  move,  "  just  as  an  eel's  skin  is 
stretched  in  order  to  dry."  His  bones  crack  and  are  dis- 
located under  this  operation.  Five  and  twenty  paces 
away  stands  the  public  executioner,  attired  in  a  colored 
cotton  shirt,  velvet  trousers  (stuffed  into  a  pair  of  jack- 
boots), his  sleeves  tucked  up  over  bare  brawny  arms.  He 
grasps  his  dreadful  instrument  in  both  hands.  It  is  a 
thong  of  thick  leather  cut  in  a  triangular  form,  four  or  five 
yards  long  and  an  inch  wide,  tapering  off  at  one  end  and 
broad  at  the  other.  The  small  end  is  fastened  to  a 
wooden  handle  or  whipstock  about  two  feet  in  length.  It 
is  akin  to  the  buffalo  whip  of  the  Western  States  of 
America,  the  crack  of  which  is  like  the  discharge  of  small 
artillery.  The  signal  given,  the  executioner  advances  a 
few  steps,  bends  his  athletic  body,  grasping  the  knout  in 
his  two  strong  hands,  the  long  lash  dragging  like  a  snake 
along  the  ground,  and  between  his  legs.  Within  three 
paces  of  the  victim  he  flings  the  creeping  lash  above  his 
head,  then  with  a  curious  cruel  knack  lets  it  twirl  for  a 
moment  before  bringing  it  down  upon  the  naked  object, 
around  which  it  twines  with  malignant  force — "  in  spite  of 
its  state  of  tension,  the  body  bounds  as  if  it  were  submitted 
to  the  powerful  grasp  of  galvanism."  Retracing  his  steps, 
the  executioner  repeats  the  stroke  with  clock-like  regu- 


6o  BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

larity,  until  the  prescribed  number  of  blows  is  counted. 
It  is  a  ghastly  sight ;  the  present  narrator  will  spare  the 
reader  a  detailed  description  of  its  horrors.  But  in 
Russia  where  so  much  may  be  purchased  for  gold,  and 
indeed  where  so  much  must  be  purchased — the  venality  of 
every  official  class  being  notorious  all  over  the  world — 
the  family  of  the  wretch  condemned  to  the  knout  may  buy 
from  the  executioner  what  he  calls  the  death-blow  ;  in  that 
case,  the  operator  slays  the  victim  at  the  very  first  stroke 
***as  surely  as  if  it  were  an  axe  that  he  held  in  his  hand." 

The  drums  had  beaten,  the  Governor  and  his  officers 
had  taken  their  places  around  the  scar.uld — for  the  knout 
is  administered  with  much  ceremony,  more  especially 
when  the  punishment  is  intended  for  a  salutary  warning 
during  some  political  crisis — the  crowd,  awe-stricken,  yet 
anxious  to  see  the  awful  exhibition,  were  holding  theii" 
breath  with  fear,  the  lash  was  writhing  through  the  air, 
when  a  mad  woman  tore  her  way  through  the  crowd,  her 
hair  all  disheveled,  her  face  white  as  her  bare  arms,  her 
eyes  bloodshot.  But  the  sensation  she  created  did  not 
stay  the  flying  lash.  It  came  down  with  the  thud  of  death 
upon  the  body  of  Losinski.  The  very  life  was  beaten  out 
of  him.  Ferrari  knew  it.  Grunstein  knew  it.  The  exe- 
cutioner knew  it.  But  Anna  only  saw  the  lash  swing  and 
fall  stroke  after  stroke,  while  she  fought  with  the  crowd, 
and  at  last  wa&  seized  upon  by  Ferrari  and  Grunstein  in 
the  hope  of  saving  her  from  the  police. 

"  Are  ye  men  ?  "  shv^  cried,  when  for  a  moment  she  was 
at  rest.  "  Oh,  my  brothers,  will  you  stand  by  and  see 
your  master  murdered  ?  Great  God,  curse  this  cruel  host 
of  the  fiendish  Czar?  " 

**  Peace,  daughter,  for  Heaven's  sake  ! "  urged  Grunstein. 

"  Anna  ! "  whispered  Ferrari. 

**  Yonder  I  "  she  cried.  "  Look  at  him — the  false 
governor,  the  traitor,  the  liar,  the  Christian  Tarquin  1 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  6l 

A  few  men  of  the  ghetto  gathered  about  her  threaten- 
ingly, for  the  Jews  of  Czarovna,  through  many  years  of 
something  approaching  to  freedom,  were  not  altogether 
devoid  of  courage,  and  at  once,  half  crazy  as  she  was, 
Anna  seemed  to  see  her  advantage. 

"  Men  of  the  ghetto  !  "  she  cried,  "  look  to  your  wives 
and  daughters.  You  knew  me  a  pure,  good  woman ; 
your  vile  governor  Petronovitch  has  put  upon  me  an  ever- 
lasting curse ;  avenge  me,  for  the  love  of  your  women  and 
babes  ! " 

"  Down  with  the  Governor  Petronovitch  1 "  shouted  the 
imbecile  who  had  betrayed  Losinski. 

And  the  knout  continued  to  fall  upon  the  dead  rabbi. 
When  the  last  blow  was  struck  there  was  a  movement 
towards  the  crowd  where  Anna  was  haranguing  them,  and 
this  was  encountered  by  a  hostile  rush  of  the  multitude 
that  had  now  gathered  about  the  outraged  woman.  The 
Governor  could  be  seen  giving  orders.  Several  officers 
left  his  side  and  made  for  the  spot  where  Anna  was  con- 
spicuous, her  arms  tossing  to  and  fro  above  the  crowd, 
her  tall  figure  a  rallying  point  for  the  riot,  that  now  began 
with  a  quick  ferocity,  in  defence  of  the  wretched  queen  of 
the  ghetto,  to  capture  whom  it  was  at  once  seen  was  the 
object  of  the  Governor's  officers. 

All  at  once  there  was  fighting,  from  one  end  of  the 
street  to  the  other.  The  foremost  band  was  led  by  the 
imbecile,  who  fairly  leaped  upon  the  police  as  they  charged 
the  crowd,  only,  however,  to  be  transfixed  by  a  bayonet 
thrust.  Anna  seemed  to  be  the  very  centre  and  object 
of  the  riot.  The  men  of  the  ghetto  defended  her  with  a 
devotion  that  was  as  noble  as  it  was  ill-advised  and  futile. 
It  is  true  that  several  of  the  Imperial  troops  and  police 
bit  the  dust,. but  the  Jews  fell  by  the  score,  and  before 
Losinski's  body  was  removed  from  the  scaffold  and  carried 
as  a  matter  of  form  to  the  hospital,  a  fresh  company  of 


6si  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

troops  came  marching  out  from  the  barracks.  The  Jews 
retreated  to  their  homes,  and  the  populace,  influenced  by 
the  agents  who  had  arrived  at  Czarovna  the  night  before 
from  the  east  with  the  false  ukase,  began  to  rise  against 
their  Semitic  neighbors. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

PANDEMONIUM. 

Beaten  back  and  retreating,  the  Jews  left  their  forlorn 
sister  as  needs  must  to  the  mercy  of  the  Governor.  Un- 
satiated  with  the  blood  of  Losinski,  in  a  passion  of  brutal 
rage  he  condemned  Anna  to  the  lash,  and  to  instant 
punishment. 

In  the  midst  of  the  red  excitement  of  the  moment,  men's 
passions  alive  with  fear,  terror  and  vengeance,  with  the 
sound  of  musketry  following  the  retiring  Jews,  and  with 
the  murmur  of  a  gang  of  prisoners  whom  the  hussars  were 
dragging  towards  the  Governor,  Petronovitch's  inhuman 
order  was  given,  and  Anna  was  stripped  to  receive  fifty 
strokes  of  the  knout. 

There  were  Russian  women  on  the  scene,  the  wives  of 
some  of  the  officials ;  they  are  supposed  to  attend 
such  terrible  functions  as  t  e  knout  on  special  occasions, 
for  the  purpose  of  assisting  to  emphasize  a  public  deter- 
rent example  offered  on  such  occasions  for  the  benefit  of 
the  people.  They  had  borne  the  sight  of  the  rabbi's  death 
with  the  nerve  of  official  dignity.  But  a  palpable  mur- 
mur of  horror  and  protest  was  heard  among  them  as  they 
reaHzed  what  was  about  to  happen  to  Anna.  The  Count 
Stravensky,  venturing  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  to  make 
an  appeal  to  the  Governor  on  behalf  of  the  woman, 
received  a  prompt  and  significant  snub  :  "  Are  we  to 
maintain  the  authority  of  the  Government  or  not?  Ii 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  «3 

open  defiance,  and  in  presence  of  the  officers  of  the  law 
itself,  making  riot  under  the  very  banner  of  his  Imperial 
Majesty  nothing,  Sir  Count  ?  Begone,  sir,  to  your  home  1  ** 

As  the  count,  biting  his  lips,  moved  away,  Anna  Kloss- 
tock,  stripped  to  the  waist,  was  laid  upon  the  reeking 
frame  to  receive  her  punishment. 

From  such  of  the  crowd  as  were  left,  Jew  and  Gentile, 
a  cry  of  horror  went  up  to  heaven,  but  the  sun  shone 
brightly  and  the  measured  beat  of  the  executioner  upon 
the  peeling  flesh  fell  stroke  by  stroke  fifty  times. 

The  quivering  body  was  then  carried  with  a  strong 
escort  of  soldier^  to  the  hospital,  and  the  riots  of  Czar- 
ovna  began  in  downright  earnest.  "  Better  we  take  their 
goods  than  the  strangers  from  Elizabethgrad,"  said  some 
of  the  Christian  townsfolk.  Others  remembered  wrongs 
or  imaginary  wrongs  which  they  had  suffered  at  the  hands 
of  their  neighbors.  The  mujiks  thought  of  the  money 
they  owed  the  Jews.  Others  were  fired  with  a  sort  of 
patriotic  zeal,  preferring  to  believe  that  the  Emi>eror 
wished  them  to  take  over  their  property.  "  They  are 
delivered  into  our  hands  by  the  Government,"  said  the 
agents  of  the  other  risings  against  the  Hebrews. 

Outside  the  ghetto,  the  Jews'  houses  were  sacked  without 
much  defence  ;  they  were  mixed  up  with  the  wooden 
and  mud  houses  of  their  Christian  neighbors.  The  beer- 
houses and  taverns  were  occupied  with  ignorant  throngs, 
who,  having  drunk  themselves  into  a  frenzy,  presently  sal- 
lied out  into  the  ghetto,  mad,  wild,  irresponsible  savages. 

The  Jews  fortified  themselves  in  their  houses  and  fought 
for  their  lives — fought  with  knives  and  staves,  and  here 
and  there  with  firearms  ;  but  as  a  rule  tl^ey  had  little  or 
no  knowledge  of  guns  and  pistols,  and  while  they  had  thi? 
instinct  of  self-preservation  to  push  them  on,  their  assail- 
ants were  fired  with  drink  and  greed,  and  stimulated  with 
a  natural  barbarity.     The  more  their  cruel  passions  were 


C4  B7  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

fed,  the  more   they  desired ;  and  Pandemonium  was  let 
loose. 

A  woman  with  her  babe,  because  she  stood  before  her 
son,  a  youth  who  had  fought  against  the  entrance  of  the 
mob  into  her  room,  had  the  child  dragged  from  her  arms 
and  its  brains  dashed  out  before  her  face,  herself  being 
subjected  to  the  last  insults  that  men-fiends  can  offer  to 
helpless  women. 

At  the  lodging  of  Losinski,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
woman  of  the  house  received  the  leader  of  the  attack  with 
a  coa)  hammer,  and  laid  him  dead  at  her  feet,  at  which 
the  mob  passed  on  and  left  her. 

The  keeper  of  the  synagogue,  whither  many  timid  Jews 
had  sought  sanctuary,  fought  the  mob  single-handed  upon 
the  stairway,  until  he  fell  covered  with  wounds. 

Klosstock's  house  was  ransacked  without  even  a  show 
of  protest.  "  Thine  ox  shall  be  slain  before  thine  eyes,  and 
thou  shalt  not  eat  thereof ;  thine  ass  shall  be  violently 
taken  away  from  before  thy  face,  and  shall  not  be  restored 
to  thee  ;  thy  sheep  shall  be  given  unto  thine  enemies,  and 
thou  shalt  have  none  to  rescue  them.  Thy  sons  and  thy 
daughters  shall  be  given  unto  another  people,  and  thine 
eyes  shall  look  and  fail  with  longing  for  them  all  the  day 
long  ;  and  there  shall  be  no  might  in  thy  hand. 

It  did  not  enter  into  the  divine  invention  of  mischief  to 
curse  his  rebellious  people  with  the  knout  and  the  dungeon, 
the  husband  torn  from  the  wife,  the  daughter  stripped  and 
flogged  in  the  market  place,  the  babe  dashed  to  pieces  in 
sight  of  the  mother,  brutal  might  everywhere  triumphant, 
virtue,  modesty  and  right  trodden  in  the  gutter,  spat  upon, 
massacred.  But  such  has  it  been  of  late  with  the  Jews  in 
Russia ;  such  it  is  feared  will  be  again. 

Is  it,  then,  a  matter  for  wonder  that  so  many  of  the 
Nihilistic  authors  of  anti- Russian  books  have  been  Jews  ? 
Is  it  surprising  that  the  Jews  have  aided  the  propaganda 


Sy  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  65 

against  the  Russian  Government?  Under  such  disabilities 
is  there  anything  astonishing  in  the  fact  that  there  is  a 
good  deal  of  wretchedness,  knavery,  dirt,  squalor,  and 
deceit  among  the  commoner  class  of  Jews  in  Russia  ?  What 
kind  of  a  miracle  would  it  be  that,  in  spite  of  persecution, 
stripes,  murder,  enforced  penury  and  hunger,  with  debarred 
constitutional,  social,  or  any  other  rights,  except  now  and 
then  to  see  the  light  of  heaven,  should  raise  a  people  to 
the  level  of  the  masses  of  free  countries,  such  as  England 
and  America  ? 


CHAPTER  XII. 

^  vows   OF   VENGEANCE. 

The  Count  Stravensky  rode  homewards  with  a  conflict  of 
many  harassing  feelings  stirring  his  heart.  He  would  have 
done  much  to  save  Anna  Klosstock.  Ever  since  he  had 
met  her  on  the  road  to  the  old  palace  of  the  Government, 
her  face  had  been  continually  before  him.  Had  he  been  a 
man  of  a  stronger  will,  he  would  probably  have  prevented 
her  from  going  to  that  fatal  house.  But  he  knew  his  own 
weakness ;  it  was  not  so  much  want  of  courage  as  the 
knowledge  that  he  was  not  a  true  subject  of  the  Czar  j 
true  to  Russia,  yes — but  untrue  to  his  oath  of  allegiance, 
untrue  to  his  order,  and  would  have  been  openly  hostile  if 
any  good  could  have  come  of  it. 

Meanwhile,  however,  he  was  one  of  the  powers  behind 
the  popular  movement  of  the  time,  and  with  the  hope  that 
the  day  would  come  when  he  might  strike  a  blow  for 
liberty  in  open  daylight  and  lay  down  his  life,  if  need  be, 
to  some  purpose,  to  sacrifice  himself  now  either  to  suspi- 
cion or  to  personal  malice  would  be  a  useless  waste  of 
power  ?.nd  possibility. 

Count  Stravensky  had  already  been  able  to  help  on  th0 


66  BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

chances  of  the  coming  of  that  glorious  future  of  which 
many  patriots  were  dreaming,  and  he  knew  better  than  to 
forfeit  his  place  and  position  voluntarily  and  to  no  good. 
But  for  the  knowledge  that  he  was  already  deeply  com- 
promised and  might  be  charged  at  any  moment,  though  he 
had  every  reason  to  believe  his  secret  was  well  kept,  he 
would  have  resisted  the  Governor's  arrogant  order.  It 
would  have  been  an  inopportune  moment  to  have  defied 
the  administrative  authority — the  town  on  the  eve  of  open 
revolt,  the  Governor  anxious  to  signalize  the  opening  of 
his  government. 

The  count  ground  his  teeth  and  vowed  to  himself  as 
speedy  a  vengeance  as  a  calm  discretion  would  permit  him 
to  take  in  the  interest  of  the  great  cause  to  which  he  was 
secretly  pledged.  He  had  been  publicly  insulted;  but 
that  was  as  nothing  compared  with  the  outrage  which  had 
been  committed  upon  the  beautiful  girl  with  whom  he  had 
spoken  on  the  previous  day  upon  the  road  he  was  now 
traversing.  While  he  bit  his  lips  and  clenched  his  right 
hand  with  rage  and  indignation,  the  tears  streamed  down 
his  rugged  cheeks,  as  the  two  pictures  of  human  misery 
rose  up  before  him — the  pale,  lovely  face  of  the  Jew's 
daughter  as  he  had  seen  her  on  the  previous  day,  her  great 
violet  eyes  full  of  mute  appeal,  her  bronzed  locks  in 
picturesque  masses  about  her  face,  her  red  lips  and  white 
teeth,  her  fine  noble  figure,  and  the  mad,  bloodshot  eyes 
that  had  met  his  gaze  near  the  scaifold,  to  which  she  had 
been  brutally  and  ruthlessly  condemned. 

"  Are  we  men  or  fiends  that  we  can  do  such  deeds  ? 
What  sort  of  miserable  cowards  are  we  to  stand  by  and 
see  them  done  ?  " 

His  hand  upon  his  sword,  he  turned  his  horse  in  the 
direction  of  the  once  happy  but  now  wretched  town  of 
Czarovna,  but  only  to  wheel  round  again  and  continue  his 
xide  home.     He  resolved)  however,  if  the  poor  creature 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  6j 

lived  through  her  terrible  punishment,  and  escaped  Siberia, 
or  were  vouchsafed  years  enough  to  pass  the  ordeal  of  both 
knout  and  Siberia,  he  would  do  something  towards  making 
the  remainder  of  her  life  bearable.  And  he  recalled  to 
mind  the  case  of  Madame  Lapukin,  who,  some  hundred 
years  before,  was  flogged  almost  to  death,  her  tongue  torn 
out,  and  then  skillfully  saved  from  death  to  be  sent  to 
Siberia,  whence  she  was  released  by  Peter  the  Third  when 
she  was  an  old  woman. 

This  awful  example  gave  the  count  a  passing  hope  that 
if  Anna  did  not  die,  as  he  prayed  she  might,  he  would,  in 
some  way,  be  able  to  help  her,  if  it  were  only  to  make  her 
a  witness  of  the  downfall  and  punishment  of  Petronovitch  ; 
for  of  the  Governor's  ultimate  ruin  and  death  he  felt  a 
moral  certainty,  and  he  humbly  asked  God  to  save  him  a 
red  hand  in  this. 

They  all  prayed,  you  will  observe,  on  whichever  side 
they  were.  Even  Petronovitch  knelt  publicly  and  helped 
the  priest  to  give  thanks  for  the  discovery  of  plots  against 
the  Czar  and  the  punishment  of  the  instigators  thereof.  If 
the  Divine  Power  were  one  that  could  be  influenced  by 
th«se  miscellaneous  petitions,  what  a  complication  of 
investigation  would  be  involved  in  the  answering  of  their 
conflicting  requests  ?  But  God's  laws  against  tyranny, 
persecution,  murder,  are  irrevocable ;  they  are  often  slow 
of  operation,  but  in  the  end  the  wrongdoers  are  punished. 
The  end  may  seem  to  us  long  in  coming;  it  is  not  so 
when  we  remember  what  atoms  we  are,  and  that  our  lives 
are  only  as  a  moment  in  the  longevity  of  God  and  the 
great  world 

Stravensky,  among  other  things,  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  his  life  and  work  would  be  of  more  value  to  the  cause 
of  Liberty,  and  his  chance  of  success  against  Petronovitch 
greater,  if  he  lived  in  St.  Petersburg  ;  and  when  he  reached 
his  estate  and  sat  down  to  converse  with  his  steward  he 


68  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

informed  him  that  he  had  resolved  to  let  his  property  in 
the  province  of  Vilnavitch,  the  governorship  of  which  was 
no  longer  to  his  liking,  and  take  up  his  abode  in  St.  Peters- 
burg. He  did  not  give  his  faithful  servant  any  further 
information,  but  he  had  in  his  heart  a  big  scheme  of 
intrigue  against  Petronovitch,  and  in  favor  not  only  of  the 
Jews  but  of  Holy  Russia.  Possessed  of  greath  wealth,  he 
would  devote  it  now  in  earnest  to  the  great  cause;  he 
would  lay  himself  out  for  popularity  ;  he  would  seem  to  be 
a  Royalist  of  the  Royalists  ;  he  would  win  his  way  to  the 
Czar's  confidence  ;  he  would  be  a  social  and  political 
power,  in  order  that  he  might  the  easier  swoop  to  his 
revenge,  and  be  all  the  more  able  at  the  right  time  to  turn 
and  rend  the  personages  with  whom  he  would  make  a  pre- 
tence of  friendship.  How  far  the  part  which  the  count 
proposed  to  himself  was  a  noble  one  the  reader  must  judge 
for  himself ;  how  far  he  succeeded  in  his  plans  of  patriot- 
ism and  vengeance  the  narrator  will  inform  the  reader  in 
due  course. 

If  Andrea  Ferrari  had  been  the  arch-fiend  of  evil  him- 
self, he  felt  that  he  could  not  have  brought  more  calamities 
upon  his  friends  than  had  befallen  them,  as  he  conceived, 
through  his  unconscious  agency.  While  he  upbraided  him- 
self, he  nevertheless  could  not  but  be  conscious  of  the  fact 
that  after  all  he  had  only  hastened  the  troubles  that  were 
about  to  fall  upon  Czarovna.  Given  Petronovitch  for 
Governor,  and  the  agents  of  the  false  ukase  in  the  town, 
something  terrible  must  have  happened  sooner  or  later;  at 
the  same  time,  but  for  him  there  might  have  been  time  to 
save  Anna  and  the  rabbi  and  Nathan  Klosstock. 

These  thoughts  raced  through  his  mind  even  at  the  height 
of  the  rioting  about  the  scaffold.  His  usual  grip  left  him. 
He  hesitated  and  was  lost — or  rather  saved  ;  for  had  he 
not  hesitated  he  would  have  rushed  into  action,  and  to 
what  purpose  ?    The  knout,  imprisonment,  or  death  1 


By  ORDER  OF  Tf/E  CtAR.  69 

When  Anna  was  captured  he  was  borne  away  with  the 
retreating  crowd  to  the  ghetto,  pressed  upon  by  the  sol- 
diers, and  presently  hustled  and  struck  by  the  gathering 
rioters  and  agents  of  the  false  ukase,  who  were  already 
assembling  in  the  streets  of  the  Jewish  quarter. 

With  a  deep  vow  of  vengeance  against  Petronovitch,  he 
hurried  on  to  the  assistance  of  Grunstein,  and  with  a  view 
to  reach  the  good  old  Jew's  hiding-place. 

Pushing  open  the  front  door,  leading  through  the  porch 
into  the  house,  he  found  Grunstein,  torn,  tattered  and 
bleeding,  his  wife  bathing  his  temples. 

The  threatening  cry  of  the  mob  could  be  heard  from  far 
away.  It  was  like  the  first  booming  of  the  coming  storm. 
It  would  come  nearer  and  nearer  every  minute,  until  it  fell 
with  a  crash,  and  with  lightning  and  sudden  death  in  it. 

Ferrari  locked  and  bolted  every  door  behind  him. 
"  Bloodhounds,"  he  growled  between  his  teeth,  "  wait 
awhile!" 

"  I  am  not  hurt ;  it  is  nothing,"  said  Moses  Grunstein, 
rising  as  he  spoke.  "  Deborah  was  alarmed,  but  it  is 
nothing ;  would  that  I  might  have  died  to  save  that  poor 
victim  of  our  neighbor  Klosstock  !  " 

"  We  are  indeed  a  cursed  race,"  exclaimed  Ferrari. 

**  To-day,  it  is  true,  our  Father  Abraham  is  on  the  side 
of  the  Philistines,"  said  Moses  Grunstein.  **  'And  thy  life 
shall  hang  in  doubt  before  thee ;  and  thou  shalt  fear  day 
and  night,  and  shalt  have  none  assurance  of  thy  life.'  The 
curse  is  upon  us." 

"  But  He  shall  yet  bring  us  to  the  land  which  our  fathers 
possessed,"  said  Deborah,  "  and  do  us  good,  and  we  shall 
be  blessed." 

Deborah  not  only  comforted  her  husband  with  plaster 
for  his  body,  but  with  plaster  for  his  perturbed  mind. 

"  That  will  do,"  said  Ferrari.  *'  I  expect,  the  truth  be- 
ing known,  the  Lord  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it,  the 


ft>  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

trouble  is  somehow  in  ourselves ;  but,  mistress,  where  is 
your  servant  ?  " 

'*  She  is  in  my  chamber,  packing  my  jewels." 

"  Call  her  down." 

Deborah  called  the  maid,  who  came  with  a  small  box  in 
her  hand  ar.d  a  bundle  of  rich  silk  shawls  on  her  arm. 

•'  Listen,"  said  Ferrari ;  "  listen,  all  of  you  !  The  wolves 
are  without,  there  is  no  time  to  lose.  Is  all  prepared  for 
our  retreat  ?  " 

"  All,"  said  Grunstein. 

"  Then  let  us  waste  no  time." 

For  the  moment  there  was  a  lull  outside ;  it  seemed  as 
if  the  mob  had  passed  on. 

"  As  if,"  said  the  old  man,  divining  Ferrari's  thoughts, 
"  they  had  seen  the  ancient  sign  and  we  are  saved." 

"  Did  any  one  see  you  enter  ?  " 

"  When  ?  "  asked  the  old  man. 

"  When  we  were  separated,  and  you  made  for  home." 

"  I  think  not." 

"A  stranger  followed  me,"  said  Ferrari:  "one  of  the 
agents  of  the  rising — an  Eastern  man,  I'll  swear.  I  had 
nearly  stabbed  him  on  the  doorstep ;  but  he  can  wait. 
Come,  dear  friends." 

**  I  heard  thee  bar  the  doors ;  we  are  safe,  my  son,  at 
present ;  let  us  refresh  ourselves ;  thou  art  pale,  thy  lips 
are  dry." 

At  a  nod,  Deborah^  his  wife,  brought  wine  and  cakes 
from  a  little  cabinet. 

"  I  like  your  courage,  old  friend,"  said  Ferrari,  "  it  re- 
bukes me ;  my  nerves  are  shaken." 

**  I  know  how  easy  it  is  to  retire  to  those  chambers 
within,"  said  Grunstein,  *'  and  there  is  no  need  to  run 
now." 

"  Would  to  Heaven  we  might  have  stood  yonder  by  that 
scaffold,"  said  Ferrari ; "  surely,  after  all,  it  would  have  been 


BV  ORDER  OF  THf.   CZAR,  7t 

best  to  die  like  the  idiot,  who  atoned  nobly  for  his  betrayal 
of  Losinski." 

"  That  did  he,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  It  is  hard  for  me  to  persuade  myself  that  I  am  not  as 
guilty  of  Losinski's  death  as  the  suborned  witness  was," 
said  Ferrari.  **  It  was  I  who  brought  the  police  spy  upon 
the  house  of  Klosstock  ;  my  intention  was  to  warn  and  save 
— instead  of  that  I  was  the  trail  the  bloodhounds  followed  ; 
(he  face  of  Anna  Klosstock  will  haunt  me  to  my  dying  day ; 
I  only  consent  to  live  that  I  may  stab  Petronovitch  to 
death  with  the  same  ghastly  memory  uppermost  in  his 
black  heart.  Hush  !  cMd  you  not  hear  a  noise  in  tlie  outer 
hall  ?  " 

As  he  spoke  there  was  a  hurrying  of  feet  in  the  street 
outside,  then  the  crash  of  a  window,  followed  by  the  report 
of  firearms. 

"  They  are  coming,"  said  Deborah,  creeping  to  the 
side  of  the  old  man. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  have  no  fear  ;  all  will  be  well." 

"  Pray  God  it  may,"  Deborah  answered. 

"  Go  forward  with  the  shawls  and  jewels,**  said  the  old 
man,  addressing  the  girl ;  "  and  be  not  afraid." 

"  I  am  not  afraid."  said  the  maid,  "  now  that  our  guest 
has  come." 

Ferrari  smiled  and  bowed.  "  Madame,"  he  said,  turning 
to  the  mistress,  "  I  hope  my  sojourn  under  your  roof  will 
bring  you  better  fortune  than  my  presence  at  the  Kloss- 
tocks  has  brought  to  them  and  theirs." 

"You  blame  yourself  without  a  cause,  my  generous 
Moses  says,  and  I  can  well  believe  it." 

"  You  may  trust  to  my  good  intentions,"  Ferrari  replied  ; 
"  you  shall  also  find  me  grateful." 

"  We  are  in  the  hands  of  God ! "  she  answered. 

"  Amen  !  "  said  the  old  man. 

A  thundering  at  the  outer  door  was  the  defiant  reply  of 
the  mob  to  these  pious  ejaculations. 


7fl  SV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

"Come,"  said  Ferrari,  and  they  followed  him  at  once. 

"  Now,  my  friend,"  continued  the  guest,  "  we  will  escort 
the  women  to  safety." 

The  old  man  rose  and  led  the  way.  Ferrari  locked  and 
bolted  each  door  as  they  went  along  ;  intending,  neverthe- 
less, to  return  and  unbolt  some  of  them,  for  it  was  not  in 
human  nature  to  slink  away  and  not  strike  one  blow  for 
his  friends  and  the  bleeding  cause  of  Freedom. 

Arrived  at  the  well,  the  women  were  soon  placed  beyond 
danger. 

"  And  now,  good  friend,"  said  Ferrari,  "  do  thou  await 
me  here ;  descend,  keep  watch  at  the  entrance  below,  and 
I  will  join  you  anon." 

Grunslein  begged  him  to  run  no  further  risk,  but  rather 
make  good  his  retreat  and  safety. 

Ferra  ■*  made  no  answer,  but  laying  aside  his  Jewish 
gabardine  and  the  wig  and  beard  of  the  Moscow  banker, 
turned  up  his  sleeves  to  the  elbow. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

A  GREAT  FIGHT  j   BUT  THE    RED    COCK  CROWS 
OVER  THE  GHETTO. 

The  entrance  to  the  well,  which  was  the  narrow  way  to 
the  underground  palace  of  the  wise  old  Jew,  was  a  small 
open  square  or  yard  leading  into  the  back  of  the  Grunstein 
warehouse  or  store  room,  a  not  very  safe  place  if  the  mob 
made  their  way  through  the  strong  iron-bound  door  that 
gave  upon  it.  But  Ferrari  was  master  of  the  situation, 
seeing  that,  go  as  far  as  he  might  through  the  premises,  he 
had  strong  doors  between  him  and  the  rioters,  unless 
through  any  indiscretion  arising  out  of  his  excitement  they 
should  score  an  advantage  against  him.     The  yard  in  ques' 


By  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  7$ 

tion  was  unapproachable  from  without,  seeing  that  on  one 
side  it  was  shut  in  by  the  warehouse  befc" "  nnentioned, 
and  on  the  other  by  the  beginning  of  the  ;rhanging 
rocks  which  were  the  commencement  of  that  curious  geo- 
logical formation  the  secret  of  which  Moses  Grunstein  had 
discovered  long  ago,  to  his  great  satisfaction  if  not  to  his 
financial  profit. 

Ferrari, 'with  the  master  key  of  the  place  in  his  hand, 
being  also  on  the  right  side  of  all  the  bolts  and  bars,  stood 
in  the  little  courtyard  of  the  underground  retreat,  and 
listened.  He  had  given  the  knife  which  had  served 
nim  so  well  on  the  night  of  his  escape  from  Klosstock's 
house  to  Anna — alas  !  to  so  little  purpose — but  he  had 
replaced  it  from  Grunstein's  store  with  a  superb  example 
of  the  cutler's  art.  It  was  not  a  dagger  in  the  general 
acceptation  of  the  term ;  it  was  something  between  a 
butcher's  knife  and  the  stiletto  of  the  Spaniard  ;  it  had  the 
fine  temper  of  the  latter  with  the  strength  of  the  former, 
and  it  rested  in  a  heavy  leathern  sheath;  it  had  not  the 
handle  of  the  dagger,  but  was  attached  by  a  strap  to  the 
wrist.  In  a  pocket  upon  Ferrari's  hip  was  a  revolver,  and 
in  his  resolute  eyes  there  was  a  whole  armory  of  weapons  ; 
for  whatever  one  may  have  previously  seen  of  the  ugly 
side  of  Ferrari  was  as  nothing  compared  with  the  murder- 
ous look  there  was  now  in  his  face  as  he  stood  listening 
for  the  mob,  conscious  of  his  power  and  full  of  a  determin- 
ation to  avenge  on  somebody  the  death  of  the  rabbi  and 
the  almost  worse  than  assassination  of  Anna  Klosstock. 

Let  us  glance  at  him  in  the  streak  of  sunny  daylight  that 
falls  into  the  narrow  gorge  we  have  called  the  courtyard, 
between  the  well  and  the  Grunstein  warehouse.  Wearing 
a  coarse  grey  shirt  of  woolen  texture,  a  pair  of  breeches 
with  high  boots,  he  is  stripped  for  battle.  He  is  of  me- 
dium height,  bony,  lithe,  some  would  say  thin,  and  his 
muscles  are  of  iron.     His  shirt  is  open  at  the  throat, 


J%  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

showing  a  shapely  neck ;  no  Adam's  apple  in  it,  but  strong 
muscular  bands  right  and  left ;  his  head  Will  fixed  upon 
the  neck ;  and  one  notes  that,  in  repose  and  not  under  the 
tension  of  strong  passion,  head  and  shoulders  would  be 
singularly  graceful,  but  now  the  head  was  stiffly  borne  up 
as  if  all  the  muscles  of  the  body  were  strung  for  some  big 
athletic  action.  His  face  at  first  blush  would  have  struck 
you  as  more  or  less  ascetic ;  but  there  was  something  both 
sensual  and  sensuous  in  the  mouth,  and  just  now  there 
was  a  drawing  up  and  a  twitching  of  the  right  corner  of  the 
upper  lip  that  suggested  the  snarl  of  a  dog  that  is  going 
to  bite.  His  eyes,  black  as  night,  only  showed  the  whites, 
except  that  there  was  a  touch  of  the  sun  by  way  of  reflec- 
tion in  the  pupils,  that  made  a  lustrous  suggestion  of  their 
depths.  The  forehead  was  square,  and  had  two  strong 
wrinkles  above  the  nose  and  a  decided  scowl  right  across 
the  frontal  bone.  He  had  torn  off  the  disguise  of  beard 
and  moustache,  leaving  only  a  short,  downy  moustache  as 
black  as  his  long  hair  that  hung  about  his  forehead  and 
was  in  artistic  harmony  with  his  sun-tanned  skin. 

It  was  the  face  of  an  enthusiast,  with  the  cunning  of  the 
Jew  and  the  hot  passion  in  suppression  of  the  Italian 
bravo.  But  when  he  stretched  his  two  arms  above  his 
head,  as  if  he  were  giving  himself  a  pull  together  for  a 
great  leap,  you  could  see  that  with  all  the  fire  of  physical 
passion  there  was  also  present  a  capacity  for  restraining  it 
until  the  time  was  ripe  for  action.  He  suggested  the  tiger 
getting  ready  for  a  spring. 

Behold  him  creep  to  the  great  door  and  fling  it  back 
upon  its  hinges.  Behold  him  leave  it  wide  open  for  easy 
egress.  Behold  him  pass  along  to  the  next  door  and 
listen.  He  hears  no  sound.  He  draws  the  bolts,  releases 
the  bar.  He  is  now  in  the  midst  of  bales  and  boxes  of 
skins  and  rich  textiles.  Still  no  sound?  Yes.  A  mur- 
mur that  is  not  far  away.     He  opens  the  next  door  j  he  is 


^K  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  ^% 

In  the  Je\v*s  living  rdom,  the  apartment  wHerc  he  and 
Grunstein  had  drunk  confusion  to  the  foe.  The  mob  is 
it  the  door ;  they  have  broken  down  the  two  other  doors, 
and  are  thundering  at  this.  Ferrari  draws  his  knife, 
kisses  the  blade  and  snarls.  The  mob  have  broken  in 
one  of  the  panels.  There  are  two  bolts  on  the  upper 
half  of  the  door.  Ferrari  undoes  one  of  these,  whereupon 
half  the  panel  gives  way,  and  there  is  a  yell  of  triumph 
without,  followed  by  a  yell  of  pain.  Two  arms  that  were 
thrust  into  the  opening  have  been  instantly  seized  by  Fer- 
rari in  one  bony  hand,  to  be  literally  scored  from  wrist  to 
elbow  with  red  gashes  that  leave  the  flesh  hanging  like 
loose  bandages. 

And  now  Ferrari's  lips  are  red,  for  he  has  kissed  his 
knife  again,  and  he  laughs  like  a  maniac.  **  Come  on, 
scum  of  the  earth  !  Don't  be  basliful.  Come  on  ;  there's 
zoom  for  all  of  you,  and  to  spare  I "  But  they  did  not 
hear  a  word,  although  they  had  paused  for  a  moment  to 
let  the  wounded  assailants  fall  to  the  rear. 

Bang,  bang,  crash  came  the  blows  upon  the  door,  as  if 
a  very  battering-ram  of  old  had  got  to  work.  They  were 
determined  men,  these ;  not  the  sort  who  passed  on 
because  they  met  a  strange  resistance  ;  besides,  they  knew 
the  value  of  Grunstein's  store.  Down  came  the  top  half 
of  the  door,  and  crash  into  the  faces  that  looked  in  went 
Ferrari's  knife  amidst  howls  of  pain  and  execration. 

And  they  saw  Ferrari,  those  who  were  not  blinded 
with  his  knife,  and  he  laughed  aloud,  and  yelled,  and 
leaped,  and  flourished  his  weapon,  and  had  nearly  lost  his 
life,  as  a  consequence,  the  sharp  crack  of  a  pistol  and  the 
whiz  of  a  bullet  causing  him  at  once  to  dodge  his  head 
and  rush  for  the  second  room.  He  had  only  just  time  to 
swing  the  door  upon  the  jambs  and  bolt  and  bar  it  when 
the  mob  were  inside  the  next  room  and  had  flung  them- 
selves upon  the  door ;  but  it  was  made  of  stronger  and 


76  BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

sterner  stuff  than  the  other,  and  it  had  the  additional  pro- 
tection of  an  iron  bar. 

•*  Don't  be  a  fool,  Andrea,"  Fer'-ari  said  to  himself, 
almost  hissing  the  words,  as  if  he  were  addressing  some 
second  person.  **  Don't  be  a  fool ;  would  you  let  them 
catch  you  and  skin  you  alive?  Don't  be  a  fool,  I  tell 
you  !  " 

His  hand  sought  his  hip  pocket  and  then  withdrew. 

"  No,  not  yet,"  he  said ;  "  you  will  empty  your  pistol 
at  the  last  stand." 

The  door  was  thick,  but  he  thought,  between  the  blows 
upon  it,  he  could  hear  the  ruffians  dragging  away  the 
Grunstein  bales  ;  he  saw  them  indeed  as  much  as  heard 
them,  in  his  imagination,  gloating  and  yelling  over  their 
spoil,  and  maddened  with  the  drink  they  must  have  found 
in  the  first  room  of  the  strange  old  house.  The  door 
cracked.  He  tightened  his  belt,  examined  his  knife,  gavi 
his  shirt  sleeves  another  roll  above  the  elbow,  that  snarling 
curl  of  the  upper  lip  showed  one  of  his  teeth,  the  one  called 
the  canine  tooth,  and  his  delicate  nostrils  dilated.  How 
curiously  the  daintily-modelled  nose  seemed  to  contradict 
the  sensuous  and  somewhat  cruel  mouth. 

A  piece  of  the  door  flew  past  him  in  splinters  followed 
by  a  shout  of  triumph,  but  no  venturesome  arm  was  thrust 
through  the  ragged  aperture.  Ferrari  thought  he  recog- 
nized the  voice  of  the  man  who  had  been  a  ringleader  in 
the  first  rush  upon  the  Jews  near  the  scaffold — one  of  the 
strangers  who  had  come  into  the  town  from  Elizabethgrad. 
It  was  different  from  the  voices  and  accent  of  the  Czarovna 
men. 

Another  aperture  in  the  door  was  made,  and  it  was  as 
if  the  assailants  had  kept  silence  as  a  signal  for  their 
leader  to  speak.  "  Now,  you  rat,  we've  got  you ;  say  your 
prayers,  you  filthy  Jew." 

Yes,  it  was  the  voice  of  the  ruffian  who  had  come  into 
Czarovna  with  the  false  ukase  and  the  pistol  and  dagger. 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  yjl 

"  Come  and  take  me,  then,"  said  Ferrari,  his  face  as 
near  the  hole  as  he  dared  to  place  it,  and  his  voice  as  calm 
as  if  he  were  speaking  to  some  one  in  the  open  street,  and 
without  fear.  "  Make  a  hole  big  enough  to  let  in  one  at  a 
time,  and  I'll  fight  you  all,  you  wretched  canaille  of  the 
earth — cowards,  thieves,  cut-throats,  and  assassins  of 
women  !  " 

The  challenge  seemed  to  be  accepted  with  a  howl  of 
anger  and  derision,  and  the  blows  at  the  door  were  renewed. 
They  were  now  literally  battering  on  the  bar,  and  they 
made  no  way.  Another  pause ;  but  no  arm  came  through 
the  broken  panel. 

"  I'll  open  to  you  if  you  will  thrust  in  your  filthy  leader," 
shouted  Ferrari. 

'*  Open  then,"  responded  the  stranger ;  and  the  mob 
gave  a  yell  that  was  something  in  the  nature  of  a  cheer. 

At  that  moment  some  kind  of  reinforcement  arrived, 
and  it  was  as  if  a  dozen  men  at  one  swing  flung  themselves 
upon  the  door  armed  with  blacksmiths'  hammers.  The 
iron  bar  bent  before  the  assault,  the  door  shook  upon  its 
hinges. 

Ferrari  glanced  at  his  base  of  retreat,  and  held  his  breath. 
The  blows  were  repeated  again  and  again,  and  presently 
the  timber  began  to  give,  and  in  an  incautious  moment  a 
hand  was  thrust  through  to  seize  the  bar  with  a  view  to  lift  it. 
In  a  moment  the  venturesome  hand  was  almost  severed  from 
the  wrist,  and  a  cry  rang  out  fierce  enough  to  chill  even 
the  hot  Italian  blood  of  Ferrari — a  cry  not  alone  of  one 
man,  but  of  a  score,  a  rasping  howl  of  vengeance,  followed 
the  next  moment  with  a  renewed  attack. 

That  which  struck  the  only  note  of  fear  in  Ferrari's 
breast  was  the  sudden  firing  of  several  muskets  into  the 
broken  door.  But  he  was  as  cunning  as  he  was  brave  ; 
he  only  had  one  desire  at  the  moment,  and  that  was  to 
have  his  hand  on  the  leader  of  the  gang.    Silence  followed 


7»  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

the  firing,  and  the  Italian  guessed  its  object  and  humored 
the  hope  of  the  foe. 

'*  You  have  done  for  me,  you  cowards,"  he  screamed, 
and  then  gasped  and  fell  heavily  ;  but  he  was  on  his  feet 
in  a  second,  his  knife  clutched  firmly  in  his  right  hand. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  "  laughed  the  leader  at  the  top  of  his 
voice,  and  the  rest  joined  him  in  chorus — such  a  cruel, 
brutal  laugh  !  Then  there  was  a  scuffle  and  a  rush,  and 
the  next  moment  the  leader  squeezed  his  body  through 
the  half-open  door,  and  in  an  instant  was  seized  and 
dragged  ':hrough  the  room,  and  beyond  the  next  door  and 
into  the  little  courtyard  of  the  Aladdin's  Palace  under- 
ground, the  great  door  swinging  back,  with  a  closing  and 
shutting  of  automatic  bolts  like  the  ring  of  doom.  Before 
he  could  hardly  breathe  the  man  from  Elizabethgrad  was 
disarmed  and  stamped  upon. 

"  Wait,  my  friend,  wait,"  said  Ferrari,  fastening  the 
remaining  bolts  of  the  great  door.  The  mob  pouring  into 
the  breach  of  the  previous  door  had  evidently  paused  to 
look  for  the  dead  Ferrari  and  their  live  leader  ;  not  finding 
them  were  puzzled,  and  before  attacking  the  next  barrier 
had  spent  some  of  their  energies  in  ransacking  the  ware- 
house, which  gave  them  a  very  satisfactory  plunder. 

Meanwhile  Ferrari,  taking  his  opponent  by  the  throat, 
raised  him  to  his  feet.  He  was  a  powerful,  low-browed, 
shaggy-haired  Russian,  in  a  sheepskin  jacket,  worn,  no 
doubt,  more  particularly  to  please  the  mujiks,  for  whose 
interests  he  professed  to  be  fighting.  He  was  dazed  and 
stunned,  but  shook  himself  free  of  Ferrari,  and  looked  at 
him  with  a  threatening  eye. 

"  Well,  Christian,"  said  Ferrari.  "  Well  thief,  murderer, 
beast !  How  will  you  die  ?  Will  you  be  crucified  ?  That 
is  a  death  you  talk  about  a  deal,  you  gentle  religious  folk. 
Ha,  you  brute,  I  have  a  great  mind  to  rip  you  into  a 
thousand  pieces  I " 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  79 

Ferrari  flashed  his  knife  in  the  man's  face.  The 
Russian  did  not  flinch.  He  fixed  a  dull  gaze  upon  Fer- 
rari's bony  face  and  sparkling  eyes. 

"  Give  me  a  chance,"  at  last  said  the  leader  from 
Elizabethgrad. 

"  A  chance  to  kill  me  ?  " 

"  A  chance  of  my  life." 

"  Ho,  ho  !  "  laughed  Ferrari,  "  do  you  ask  a  Jew  to  do 
that  ?  Do  you  ask  a  Jew  who  crucifies  babies  and  makes 
sacrifices  of  Christians  at  his  bloody  feasts  ?  Do  you  ask 
me  to  save  you  ?  " 

'*  To  save  yourself,"  said  the  man,  sullenly. 

"You  will  kill  me,  then?" 

**  They  will,"  said  the  man,  pointing  to  the  closed  door, 

**  Have  you  not  read  in  what  you  call  your  Scriptures 
what  the  God  of  Abraham,  Isaac  and  Jacob  did  for  His 
people  in  the  old  days  ? 

No  reply. 

"  Answer  me,  you  thief,  or  I  will  stab  you." 

"  I  have  answered,"  the  man  replied.  And  now  there 
began  a  fresh  assault  upon  Ferrari's  last  barrier,  and  the 
long  ears  of  the  man  from  Elizabethgrad  moved  as  a  horse's 
might,  and  a  tremor  of  hope  ran  through  every  muscle. 

"  Your  friends  are  coming  ;  are  you  not  sorry  you  left 
them  ?  "  said  Ferrari  with  a  sneer. 

Just  as  the  spy  in  the  opening  chapter  of  these  records 
lost  his  life  to  Ferrari's  knife  by  a  glance  aside  in  a  moment 
of  victorious  pride  and  cynicism,  so  for  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye  was  Ferrari  off"  his  guard  with  his  unbound  prisoner, 
who  sprang  at  him  and  held  him  with  the  hug  of  a  bear. 
Neither  of  them  spoke.  They  fell  to  the  ground  with  a 
thud  ;  they  writhed  ;  Ferrari's  knife  fell  from  his  grip,  but 
it  was  still  fastened  to  his  wrist.  He  could  not  recover  it 
within  his  hand ;  his  opponent  was  feeling  for  it,  and  also 
trying  to  seize  Ferrari  by  his  right  wrist ;  the  fight  on  both 


in  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

sides  concentrated  in  this.  The  man  from  Elizabethgrad 
held  Ferrari  in  so  strong  a  hug  that  the  Italian  could  not 
move  his  hand  sufficiently  to  clasp  the  hr  die  of  his  knife. 
The  Russian's  knife  and  revolver  were  on  the  ground  only 
a  few  yards  away  ;  tlie  man  from  Elizabethgrad  was  trying 
to  drag  Ferrari  in  their  direction,  but  Ferrari  had  twined 
his  strong  muscular  right  leg  round  the  two  heavy  limbs  of 
the  other  wrestler,  and  worked  it  as  a  rudder ;  and  more- 
over his  left  hand  was  on  the  throat  of  his  assailant,  and  he 
fairly  gripped  the  wretch's  windpipe  as  in  a  vice.  At  the 
same  time  the  man  from  Elizabethgrad  held  Ferrari  with  a 
close  persistence  that  only  had  to  last  long  enough  to  be 
fatal,  for  it  would  in  time  have  squeezed  the  very  life  out 
of  him. 

And  the  thunder  of  the  attacking  party  without  fell  upon 
the  great  door,  fell  upon  it  in  measured  strokes  ;  a  veritable 
ringing  file  fire  of  blows,  with  now  and  then  an  added  rush 
in  force,  that  shook  the  timbers  and  drew  forth  grunts  and 
screams  from  bolts  and  bars. 

These  sounds  were  like  bells  of  hopeful  song  to  the  man 
from  Elizabethgrad,  who  under  their  inspiration  made  a 
sudden  and  almost  superhuman  effort,  as  also  at  the  same 
moment  did  Ferrari,  who  with  the  breath  nearly  battered 
out  of  his  body  recovered  his  knife.  Feeling  the  handle  of 
it  within  his  grasp  was  the  one  touch  of  magic  needed  for 
his  salvation.  With  a  sense  of  fainting  coming  over  him, 
he  made  a  last  attempt  to  free  his  right  arm.  He  had  held  on 
to  his  opponent's  throat,  who  was  also  getting  weak  from 
approaching  suffocation.  It  was  the  supreme  moment  for 
both  of  them.  Ferrari  wrenched  his  arm  free,  clutched  his 
knife,  drew  it  steadily  upwards,  thrust  it  into  his  opponent's 
side,  and  fainted. 

At  the  entrance  to  the  retreat,  just  within  the  well,  had 
stood  awaiting  the  return  of  Ferrari  his  friend  and  host= 
Between  his  sighs  and  prayers  he  had  heard  all  that  had 


£V  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  ft 

transpired  in  the  little  courtyard  ;  heard  it  and  prayed  and 
listened,  looked  up  to  the  sky,  and  had  seen  nothing.  Once 
he  was  on  the  point  of  ascending  to  the  daylight,  but  hear- 
ing that  Ferrari  had  a  prisoner,  who  of  course  would  be 
bound,  did  not  consider  his  assistance  necessary ;  then  he 
had  gone  back  into  the  cavern  to  reassure  Deborah  and  to 
bring  some  weapon  away — he  knew  not  why,  so  bewildered 
was  he.  When  he  returned  all  was  still ;  he  heard,  as  he 
thought,  hard  breathing,  and  thought  perhaps  Ferrari  had 
executed  his  prisoner,  and  was  waiting  to  learn  the  outcome 
of  the  attack  on  the  old  house. 

*'  Andrea  Ferrari !  "  he  called  in  a  soft  voice.  No  reply. 
"  Andrea  !  "  he  exclaimed.  No  answer.  Now  louder, 
"  Andrea  Ferrari,  my  dear  friend  !  Art  thou  there  ?  " 

Then  the  old  man  crept  from  his  hiding-place  and  peered 
out  above  the  coping  stone  of  the  well.  There  lay  the  two 
combatants.  He  issued  forth  and  hurried  to  Ferrari.  At 
the  same  time  he  glanced  cautiously  at  the  enemy,  taking 
also  the  precaution  to  unsheathe  the  knife  he  had  brought 
from  his  retreat.  The  Russian  was  dead.  Ferrari  moved 
and  sighed.  Moses  Grunstein  knelt  down  beside  him  and 
poured  down  his  throat  a  measure  of  brandy  from  a  flask 
at  his  girdle.  The  Italian  sighed  more  deeply  and  opened 
his  eyes.  For  a  moment  there  was  a  look  of  agony  in 
them;  it  gradually  changed  into  a  smile,  and  then  he 
struggled  painfully  to  his  feet. 

At  the  same  time  the  mob  thundered  upon  the  great 
oaken  door  with  a  din  of  terrible  resolution. 

"  Come,  my  son,  come  I  "  said  the  old  man,  "  or  we  are 
lost." 

"  Yes,"  said  Ferrari ;  "  thank  God  in  the  meantime  that 
we  are  saved." 

As  he  looked  up  and  uttered  this  brief  prayer  he  turned 
the  Russian  over  v/ith  his  foot  and  spat  upon  the  bleeding 
body. 


8a  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

"Come — come,"  said  Grunstein. 

Ferrari  with  a  look  of  hatred  in  the  direction  of  the  mob 
stood  aside  while  Grunstein  descended  the  well.  Then 
shaking  his  fist  at  the  mob  he  could  not  see  he  followed 
his  leader.  Standing  at  the  entrance  to  the  approaches  of 
the  cave  the  old  man  said,  "  Now,  my  son,  to  perform  a 
miracle.  It  has  pleased  God  to  afflict  us  sorely;  it  has 
pleased  Him  at  least  to  let  His  hand  fall  upon  one  of  our 
persecutors  ;  it  may  please  Him  to  save  us  for  a  happy 
future.  For  the  present  we  are  safe,  and  we  shall  emerge 
again  free  ;  these  storms  of  persecution  and  death  come  and 
go  ;  the  fury  past,  there  will  be  peace,  and  Moses  Grunstein 
has  some  treasures  left.  Listen  ;  it  is  a  powerful  barrier, 
the  last  one,  is  it  not?  " 

"  It  laughs  at  them,"  said  Ferrari. 

"  But  it  will  give  way  anon,"  said  the  old  man,  "and 
then  it  cannot  be  that  they  will  not  examine  the  well ; 
possibly  suspect  its  secret.  So  now  for  the  miracle  I  told 
thee  of." 

The  old  man  took  Ferrari  by  the  hand.  "  A  few  steps 
to  the  left,  my  son." 

Passing  to  the  left  they  went  a  few  steps  forward,  and 
then  the  old  man  stopped. 

"  What  do  you  hear?  "  asked  Ferrari's  host. 

"  A  rush  of  water."     ^ 

**  It  is  the  stream  that  passes  through  the  cavern  at  the 
further  end;  a  small  stream,  but  confined  to  a  narrow  gully 
it  makes  a  great  noise.  I  turn  it  aside,  and  it  enters  the 
well  until  the  water  rises  above  the  entrance." 

He  stooped  as  he  spoke,  and  with  considerable  effort 
turned  a  heavy  screw  that  creaked  and  creaked  with  a 
painful  sound,  and  presently  the  old  man  rose  to  his  feet. 
There  was  a  change  in  the  noise  of  the  water ;  it  was  now 
heard  as  if  falling  from  a  height,  and  with  a  splashing 
gound.  T 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  83 

"  We  retrace  our  steps,"  said  the  old  man. 

They  returned  to  the  entrance  of  the  cave.  A  stream 
of  water  was  falling  into  the  well. 

"  Now,  my  son,"  said  the  old  man,  '*  turn  thine  eyes  to 
the  right." 

'*  Yes,"  said  Ferrari. 

"  Raise  the  lamp." 

Ferrari  held  the  lamp  above  his  head. 

"  You  see  a  ring  of  iron  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Grasp  it." 

Ferrari  laid  hold  upon  it. 

"  Stand  back  and  pull  it.  Keep  free  from  the  entrance." 

Ferrari  pulled  the  ring.  There  fell  down  a  slab  of  metal 
or  hard  wood,  entirely  closing  communication  with  the  well 
and  the  exit  above. 

"  The  water  will  rise  up  in  front  of  it,"  said  the  old  man, 
"  and  no  skill  in  Russia  will  find  out  its  secret.  When  it 
is  time  for  us  to  go  forth,  we  open  our  door  and  admit  our 
watery  guard,  which  will  scatter  itself  in  these  passages  in 
ten  minutes  and  our  egress  remains  as  before.  Without 
this  sentinel  some  prying  devil  more  clever  than  his  fellows 
might  find  our  hall  of  entrance  ;  but  now  if  he  has  a  mind 
to  drop  into  the  well  he  finds  no  rest  for  the  sole  of  his 
foot ;  only  the  water.  And  didst  thou  notice  a  rope  hang- 
ing from  the  rock  over  the  yard  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  They  will  notice  it  when  they  beat  down  the  door,  and 
close  by  pieces  of  rock  and  soil  as  if  someone  had  clam- 
bered up  to  the  daylight ;  and  that  will  be  regarded  as  thy 
means  of  escape,  and  so  peradventure  the  well  may  claim  no 
attention  whatever.  Come  then,  my  friend,  let  us  go  within 
and  praise  ..he  Lord,  for  His  mercy  endureth  for  ever  !  " 

Ferrari  shrugged  his  shoulders  at  the  invitation,  think- 
ing of  the  dead  rabbi,  and  the  worse  than  dead  Queen  of 
the  Ghettp. 


ftl  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

And  while  they  prayed  and  feasted,  and  slept  aiid  ate  and 
drank  in  security — Moses  and  his  wife  and  servant,  and 
the  stranger  within  his  gates — the  storm  of  civil  and  unholy 
strife,  the  red  waves  of  persecution  passed  over  Czarovna 
like  a  blight  from  hell.  Helpless  women  and  children  fell 
before  the  lust  and  savagery  of  ignorance,  fanaticism, 
blood-guiltiness,  and  revenge.  Once  more  the  cruel  fate  of 
their  predecessors  of  Egypt  had  sought  out  the  Israelites 
in  this  remote  comer  of  the  world,  and  they  were  beaten 
with  many  stripes,  tortured  with  roa  and  fire,  their  house- 
hold  goods  taken  from  them,  their  altars  and  shrines 
desolated,  their  numbers  decimated  with  fire  and  sword. 
Czarovna  was  almost  wiped  from  the  face  of  the  earth.  In 
the  daytime  the  ghetto  resounded  with  cries  of  death  and 
yells  of  drunken  vengeance.  At  night  the  red  cock  crowed 
over  the  long  street,  and  flamed  high  above  the  eaves  and 
chimneys  of  the  home  of  the  Klosstocks.  And  when  the 
work  of  desolation  came  to  an  end,  the  country  round 
about  was  filled  with  houseless  Jews  seeking  the  shelter  of 
wood  and  forest,  making  their  way  to  the  river  that  held 
its  course  through  hostile  town  and  village  to  the  distant 
sea. 

The  historian's  duty  in  regard  to  this  part  of  his  narrative 
is  complete  with  the  simple  record  of  the  sack  and  burning 
of  Czarovna,  and  the  intimation  that  out  of  this  flame  and 
smoke  of  desolation  came  forth  at  last  safe  through  the 
furnace  Andrea  Ferrari,  Moses  Grunstein,  his  wife  and 
servant.  How  Ferrari  eventually  made  his  way  through  the 
spies  and  police  of  Russia  is  not  a  matter  of  so  much 
account  as  what  he  did  with  his  liberty,  which  it  will  be  the 
business  of  the  narrator  to  set  forth  in  future  chapters  ;  but 
it  is  important  to  relate  that  he  left  Anna  Klosstock  a 
miserable  wreck  in  the  Christian  hospital  at  Czarovna, 
subject  to  the  treatment  of  local  medical  science,  which 
prided  itself  on  the  roughest  and  readiest  means  of  curing 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  8$ 

those  victims  of  the  knout  whose  friends  had  not  been  able 
to  purchase  the  death-blow — curing  them  that  they  should 
be  enabled  to  undergo  such  further  punishment  as  their 
crimes  involved  by  order  of  the  Czar. 

There  were  in  particular  two  men  in  the  world — Count 
Stravensky  and  Andrea  Ferrari— whose  hearts  bled  for 
Anna  Klosstock,  and  who  had  sworn  to  avenge  both  herself 
and  her  father  upon  Ivan  Petronovitch,  if  not  upon  the  Czar 
himself,  under  whose  government  such  deeds  were  possible 
as  those  which  blasted  the  house  of  Klosstock,  giving  over 
its  virtuous  inmates  to  the  pangs  of  exile,  torture,  infamy, 
and  untimely  death. 


'  CHAPTER  XIV. 

"tragedy," 

A  group  of  prisoners  on  the  march,  attended  by  Cossacks 
of  the  Dun  and  Tartar  Guards.  The  wiry  steeds  and  tall 
lances  of  the  former  break  up  the  monotonous  line  of  the 
travelers  afoot,  emphasizing  the  crouching  despondency  of 
some  and  the  defiant  carriage  of  others,  among  the  forlorn 
crowd  of  human  misery. 

In  the  foreground  a  man  has  fallen  by  the  way.  He  is 
young,  and  has  apparently  collapsed  through  sheer  bodily 
fatigue.  The  one  woman  of  the  group,  in  the  act  of  stoop- 
ing to  assist  him,  is  thrust  back,  with  the  butt  end  of  a 
trooper's  rifle.  She  turns  towards  the  soldier  with  a 
mingled  look  of  appeal  and  hatred.  It  is  a  beautiful  face, 
stamped  with  a  suflfering  that  has  no  resignation  in  it. 
The  eyes  are  sunken,  but  full  of  fire.  The  low  well-knit 
forehead  is  wrinkled  with  pain.  The  mouth  is  pursed  into 
an  expression  of  angry  revolt.  If  ever  the  time  for  ven- 
geance came,  you  feel  that  this  woman  would  not  abhor  the 


^&  Py  OkDER  OF  TH£  CZAk. 

assassin's  knife  or  the  dynamiter's  shell ;  and  in  regard  to 
the  captive  whose  physical  strength  is  not  equal  to  the 
spirit  of  the  martyr,  you  find  yourself  hoping  that  he  may 
now  once  for  all  be  released  from  the  living  death  to  which 
his  companions  are  journeying. 

It  was  only  a  picture,  and  hardly  that.  It  was  the 
rough  hurried  sketch  of  a  first  idea ;  yet  there  were  lines  of 
suggestion  in  it  that  might  have  belonged  to  the  finished 
intentions  of  a  great  work.  The  woman  was  more  than  a 
sketch  ;  or,  if  not,  the  brush  was  an  inspired  one  ;  for  there 
was  a  world  of  suffering  and  agony  in  it,  mental  and  phy- 
sical. You  would  say  to  yourself  as  you  gazed  at  it, 
"that  woman  was  once  a  lovely  girl;  she  has  endured 
wrongs  the  most  terrible ;  she  has  fought  against  a  cruel 
destiny  and  been  worsted  at  every  turn ;  but  she  has  one 
hope  left — the  desire  for  revenge  ;  and  the  artist  who  has 
told  us  this  must  know  her  history  ;  and  her  history  is  a 
tragedy." 

When  you  look  close  into  the  picture  you  saw  what 
appeared  to  be  confused  and  random  strokes,  wild  splashes 
of  color,  faces  and  forms  hinted  at ;  but  standing  apart  a 
little  way  you  found  that  the  work  took  form  and  shape 
and  became  a  living  story  of  human  persecution,  with  a 
background  of  dreary  waste  and  clouds  full  of  wintry 
anger.  The  woman's  face  of  all  others  stood  out  an  almost 
finished  study. 

"  And  last  night,"  said  the  young  artist,  "  I  dreamt  I 
was  that  poor  /retch  falling  by  the  way,  and  that  an  angel 
interposed  between  that  woman  and  the  victim  of  a  tyran- 
nous rule,  and  I  was  borne  to  heaven  ;  and  when  we  reach- 
ed the  sunshine,  the  angel  was  the  woman — and  she  was 
beautiful." 

**  Yes,  it  is  given  to  genius  to  have  dreams  and  to  see 
visions,"  said  Dick  Chetwynd,  laying  a  friendly  hand  upon 
the  young  man's  shoulder,  and  at  the  same  time  standing, 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  87 

in  a  critical  attitude  before  the  picture,  "  and  it  is  given 
to  genius  when  it  paints  to  realize  its  visions.  Something 
of  a  nightmare  this  one,  eh»  Phil  ?  Tell  me  all  about  it. 
For  a  bit  of  r^pid  work  it  is  marvelous." 

"  You  think  it  is  good  ?  Well,  I  am  glad,  because  I 
rather  fancied  it  myself,"  said  the  artist,  putting  in  a  fresh 
touch  or  two  in  order  to  heighten  the  effect  of  the  figures 
standing  out  against  the  sky.  It  was  a  long  almost  un- 
broken sweep  of  lurid  cloud,  suggesting  the  hopelessness 
of  the  prisone'-s:,  as  much  as  the  weakness  of  a  setting  sun 
that  had  beneath  it  the  cold  dreary  waste  of  a  Siberian 
landscape  in  winter. 

"  You  are  a  genius,  Phil ;  that  woman's  face  is  a  stroke 
of  inspiration." 

"  How  particularly  amiable  you  are  to-day,"  vas  the 
young  artist's  reply. 

"  Just,  Philip,  not  amiable ;  just.  If  I  have  hitherto 
been  more  critical  than  complimentary,  I  have  been  influ- 
enced by  a  desire  to  keep  you  from  taking  the  bit  into 
your  mouth  and  bolting  with  some  wild  idea ;  but  when  one 
has  evidence  of  power  in  a  friend's  work,  why  not  admit 
it  ?  I  don't  hesitate  in  your  case,  because  I  feel  sure  you 
will  appreciate  the  responsibility  of  what  is  called  genius." 

How  little  Dick  Chetwynd  imagined  that  his  previous 
efforts  to  guard  Philip  Forsyth  from  letting  his  genius  run 
away  with  him  would  all  be  discounted  in  the  history  of 
this  picture,  though  in  a  direction  of  danger  utterly  dif- 
ferent from  anything  that  could  possibly  have  occurred  to 
him  1  We  are  all  more  or  less  engaged  in  protecting  our- 
selves from  dangers  and  troubles  that  never  occur,  to  fall 
into  pits  and  snares  and  toils  the  least  looked  for  among 
all  our  forecasts  of  possible  misfortunes. 

"  Don't  think  for  a  moment  that  I  accept  your  kindly 
verdict  about  genius,"  said  the  artist ;  "  it  gives  me  plea- 
sure when  you  like  my  work,  but  what,  in  your  estimation, 
is  genius  ?  " 


U  Jjy  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

Philip  laid  down  his  palette  and  brushes,  and  offering 
Chetwynd  a  cigarette,  began  to  smoke  one  himself. 

"  The  very  question  the  editor  of  The  Evening  Critic 
has  been  asking  in  his  very  interrogatory  journal ;  and  not 
a  bad  vacation  subject  either." 

**  And  what  is  the  conclusion  ?  "  asked  the  artist. 

"  That  talent  does  easily  what  others  do  with  difficulty, 
while  genius  does  what  talent  cannot  do  ;  in  other  words, 
or  rather  in  Lord  Lytton's,  '  genius  does  what  it  must  and 
talent  does  what  it  can.* " 

*'  And  what  is  your  own  opinion  ?  " 

*'  When  I  consider  my  own  particular  work,"  said  Chet- 
wynd,  "  I  come  to  the  conclusion  that  Carlyle  was  right 
when  he  said  that  genius  is  the  infinite  capacity  of  taking 
pains ;  and  when  I  look  at  your  sketch,  Philip,  I  believe 
genius  to  be  the  capacity  to  do  with  a  snap  of  the  fingers 
or  a  wave  of  the  hand  that  which  talent  with  all  its  infinite 
pains  can  never  quite  succeed  in  accomplishing." 

"  You  are  so  much  cleverer  than  I  can  ever  hope  to  be 
at  logical  definitions  of  things,  and  in  every  other  way, 
that  it  would  be  absurd  on  my  part  to  debate  so  difficult  a 
matter,  but  I  believe  industry  is  genius.  Look  at  the 
fable  of  the  tortoise  and  the  snail !  I  have  sketched  this 
.thing  in  quickly,  but  only  under  the  influence  of  a  sudden 
feeling  for  it.  Perhaps  it  will  end  here ;  whereas  Smith, 
who  took  the  medal  for  design,  would,  given  such  a  subject, 
settle  down  to  it,  plot  away  at  its  details,  finish  it  elabor* 
ately  and  a  hundred  chances  to  one  win  the  prize." 

"  It  is  a  quality  of  genius  to  underrate  its  power,  to  hale 
drudgery,  to  rest  on  its  oars ;  but  you  have  the  higher 
quality  of  talent  as  well  as  genius,  Philip  ;  you  work,  and 
you  will  paint  that  subject — *  Prisoners  on  their  way  to 
Siberia.'" 

"  How  did  you  know  the  subject  ?  "  asked  the  artist. 

"  It  does  not  need  that  angel  of  yours  to  come  down 


By  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  fl^ 

from  heaven  to  tell  one  the  subject.  Besides  you  have 
been  talking  Siberia,  the  Ravelin,  Russian  tyranny,  and 
the  hopelessness  of  Nihilism  for  weeks  past." 

"  I  have  been  reading  Stepniak,  DostoiefTsky,  Gogol, 
Lermontoff,  Tolstoi,  TourgenefT,  Kompert,  Noble,  Tikho- 
mirov  and  the  rest ;  and  I  seem  to  have  realized  in  their 
revelations  some  of  the  vague  dreams  and  suspicions  of  my 
youth.     You  forget  that  I  was  born  in  St.  Petersburg." 

"  No,  I  forget  nothing  as  a  rule  that  is  worth  remember- 
ing j  and  besides  your  mother,  Lady  Forsyth,  does  not 
permit  one  to  forget  your  life  in  Russia,  especially  when 
she  is  entertaining  some  of  the  distinguished — and  other- 
wise— exiles  of  the  North — I  say  '  and  otherwise '  advised- 
ly." 

"  My  mother  is  too  magnanimous,"  said  the  artist  \ 
"  she  takes  everybody  at  their  own  estimate." 

*'  Our  Evening  Critic  friend  is  engaged  just  now  in 
summing  up  his  latest  question  upon  the  forces  of  charac- 
ter, with  illustrations  of  suppressed  force  and  so  on.  But 
what  two  forces  are  there  that  are  equal  to  industry  and 
earnestness  ?  " 

**  You  are  my  forces,  Dick  j  without  your  encouragement 
I  should  do  nothing." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  would." 

"  If  any  other  fello'/  said  half  the  kind  things  you  say 
to  me  I  should  turn  from  him  as  I  would  from  a  flatterer 
who  had  some  purpose  to  serve  in  sweetening  his  words  to 
please  me.  But  if  you  say  ever  so  much  more  than  I  de- 
serve, I  know  it  comes  out  of  your  kind  interest  in  me,  and 
when  you  criticize  me — and  you  have  not  done  that  to-day 
— I  know  you  are  right." 

"  You  are  a  disagreeable  and  an  ungrateful  young 
vagabond  if  you  doubt  that  I  do  not  know  that  every 
word  I  say  to  you  is  the  truth,  so  far  as  I  am  capable  of 
speaking  it ;  and  in  spite  of  my  journalistic  career  I  have 


90  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

not  forgotten  the  diflerence  between  truth  and  its  opposite, 
between  flattery  and  criticism,  and  between  sincerity  and 
humbug  ;  and,  moreover,  I  believe  I  am  still  capable  of  an 
honest  friendship." 

"  I  would  like  to  hear  any  man  say  to  the  contrary," 
exclaimed  Philip,  shaking  his  fist  at  an  imaginary  foe. 

"  Would  you  ?-,  Talk  to  some  of  my  friends  on  the  sub- 
ject then.     They  will  give  you  satisfaction." 

"  If  we  lived  in  another  country  or  age,  and  they  libelled 
you,  Dick,  they  would  have  to  give  me  satisfaction." 

"  Ah,  we  live  in  a  far  better  age,  Philip,  and  the  pen  is 
not  only  mightier  than  the  sword,  but  itr  is  keener  than  its 
sharpest  edge.  And  think  of  the  stabs  it  can  give  in  the 
dark  ;  think  of  the  quiet  secret  revenges  it  has  in  its  power. 
When  a  man  insults  you  or  your  friend  it  is  not  necessary 
to  call  him  out ;  besides,  that  is  a  troublesome  business  and 
dangerous  to  oneself  also.  No,  you  simply  go  down  to 
your  newspaper — your  Evening  Critic  say — and  you  pink 
him  there  ;  and  next  day  you  can  rub  in  a  bit  of  salt,  and 
later  still  you  can  reopen  the  wound  and  make  the  man's 
life  a  misery  to  him." 

"  You  are  a  woful  cynic,  Dick ;  and  when  I  note  that 
side  of  your  character  how  can  you  blame  me  if  I  am  apt 
to  wonder  whether  you  are  only  amusing  yourself  at  my 
expense  when  you  tell  me  I  am  a  genius  and  all  that  kind 
of  thing?" 

"  What  you  are  saying  now  is  the  cynicism  of  the  heart ; 
my  cynicism  is  the  cynicism  of  the  head.  And  so  you  doubt 
me,  do  you  ?  "  •■•" 

"  No,  Dick,  I  only  doubt  myself.  When  I  doubt  myself 
most  I  ask  you  questions.  You  have  not  told  me  what  you 
think  of  my  Siberian  sketch  for  the  medal." 

When  the  Royal  Academicians  gave  "  Tragedy  "  as  the 
subject  for  the  gold  medal  and  traveling  studentship,  the 
road  to  Siberia  leaped  into  the  mind  of  Philip  Forsyth,  a 


^y  Okt>ER  OF  TfJE  CZAk.  ^t 

flash  of  inspiration,  full  of  vague  memories  of  his  childhood 
and  of  definite  stories  heard  from  suffering  lips  in  his  later 
years,  and  he  straightway  sketched  the  picture  which  is 
briefly  described  in  the  opening  words  of  this  chapter.  It 
was  the  work  of  a  few  hours,  directed  by  the  feeling  of  his 
entire  life,  and  inspired  by  an  enthusiastic  and  lofty 
nature. 

Dick  Chetwynd  knew  how  rapidly  the  sketch  had  grt)wn 
under  the  young  fellow's  hand  ;  hence  his  remark  about 
genius.  He  had  also  guessed  the  intention  of  the  sketch, 
but  hesitating  as  to  the  wisdom  of  the  choice  of  subject  for 
the  Academy  competition,  had  left  it  for  his  young  friend 
to  mention  the  special  object  of  it.  Friendship  is  never 
officious  in  the  direction  of  advice  or  sympathy ;  it  is 
anxious  to  give  pleasure,  even  in  its  good  advice ;  and 
where  Art  is  concerned  it  takes  into  account  the  sensitive- 
ness of  its  disciples,  knowing  how  small  a  word  of  opposi- 
tion randomly  spoken  may  shrivel  up  a  great  idea,  or  make 
a  wound  most  difficult  of  healing.  Dick  Chetwynd  had 
given  Philip  advice  without  hesitation  in  its  frankness,  but 
it  was  given  at  the  right  time.  Had  he  objected  ever  so 
much  to  this  remarkable  sketch,  he  would  not  have  chosen 
the  moment  when  the  imagination  was  hot  with  it,  and  the 
hand  fresh  from  its  ideal  interpretation,  to  express  his  hos- 
tile opinion  ;  but  truth  to  tdl,  in  regard  to  this  somewhat 
modern  view  of  "  Tragedy,"  as  suggested  on  the  wet  canvas 
before  him,  he  saw  far  greater  evidence  of  power  than 
Philip  had  hitherto  exhibited,  and  he  was  perfectly  sincere 
in  his  compliments. 

The  two  men  were  in  remarkable  contrast,  both  in 
appearance  and  character.  Philip  Forsyth — in  a  brown, 
more  or  less  threadbare,  velvet  jacket,  with  a  loose  black 
silk  handkerchief  round  his  neck — was  three  and  twenty, 
of  medium  stature,  lithe  of  limb,  with  black  hair  that  fell 
about  a  forehead  with  strongly  marked  eyebrows,  eyes  that 


99  By  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

were  of  a  deep  blue,  singularly  out  of  harmony,  you  would 
think  on  first  meeting  their  pathetic  gaze,  with  the  rich 
olive  complexion  of  the  young  fellow's  face.  His  lips  indi- 
cated both  refinement  and  passion.  According  to  those 
who  read  character  in  the  fingers,  his  hands  were  the  hands 
of  both  the  artist  and  of  the  executant,  but  there  were  not 
wanting  seeming  contradictions  of  his  moral  character  in 
his  physical  anatomy.  He  gave  you  the  idea  of  an  inter- 
esting enthusiastic  lad  ;  for  young  as  he  was  he  did  not 
look  his  years.  When  he  talked,  however,  his  conversation 
was  far  beyond  them,  and  you  soon  discovered  that  he  was 
more  a  creature  of  impulse  than  a  youth  of  anything  like 
settled  ideas  ;  but  at  the  same  time  you  could  not  fail  to  be 
convinced  of  his  tremendous  capacity  for  the  art  he  had 
chosen  to  follow.  If  in  his  conversation  with  Chetwynd 
he  was  inclined  to  depreciate  himself,  it  was  not  from  any 
want  of  confidence  in  his  powers,  but  from  a  certain  feeling 
of  Modesty  and  in  protest  against  the  extravagancies  of  his 
friend,  who  saw  further  ahead  than  Philip's  most  ambitious 
dreams,  but  who,  had  he  looked  into  the  future  with  the 
true  eye  of  prophecy,  with  the  vision  of  second  sight,  would 
have  been  sorely  and  sadly  troubled  at  the  prospects  of 
his  prottge  and  friend. 

Philip  Forsyth  was  an  art  student,  his  father  English, 
his  mother  Irish  ;  his  father  a  railway  contractor,  who  had 
made  and  lost  a  fortune  in  Russia,  and  who  had  been 
knighted  for  some  special  services  rendered  in  connection 
with  an  English  Industrial  Exhibition.  Philip  was  bom 
in  St.  Petersburg,  which  city  he  left  with  his  widowed 
mother,  ten  years  prior  to  the  opening  of  this  romance,  for 
London. 

His  mother.  Lady  Forsyth,  had  a  secured  income  of  a 
thousand  a  year,  and  she  added  to  it  a  not  inconsiderable 
sum  by  her  contributions  to  the  rebel  press  of  her  native 
city  of  Dublin.    She  received  at  her  pleasant  rooms  at 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  f| 

Bedford-square  the  shining  lights  of  the  Irish  party,  as  well 
as  the  distressed  refugees  of  foreign  nationalities.  Dick 
Chetwynd  doubted  the  lady's  sincerity  and  her  hatred  of 
'*  the  brutal  Saxon,"  and  used  all  his  influence  with  Philip 
to  keep  him  clear  of  the  Irish  conspiracy.  He  might  per- 
haps have  best  served  Philip's  interests  by  attaching  tl\|^ 
young  fellow  to  the  Irish  cause  in  preference  to  that  of  the 
despairing  organization  which  seems  to  lead  its  chief  direc- 
tors to  untold  miseries  of  torture  and  death. 

Whatever  Lady  Forsyth's  opinions  might  be,  they  did 
not  prevent  her  from  mixing  in  the  best  Saxon  society  that 
would  open  its  doors  to  her.  If  she  sang  "  The  Wearing 
of  the  Green  "  at  her  own  exclusive  parliamentary  parties, 
she  would  all  the  same  modestly  join  in  the  anth^  of 
"  God  Save  the  Queen,"  when  she  found  herself  in  the 
more  representative  circles  of  London  life.  She  was  of  a 
poetic  temperament,  had  the  gift  of  eloquence,  and  was  . 
looked  up  to  by  a  section  of  young  art  students,  who 
chafed  against  the  stiff  rules  of  the  Royal  Academy,  and  be- 
lieved in  the  more  rapid  and  generous  curriculum  of  the 
.  French  schools.  She  wrote  tolerable  and  fiery  verse  on 
heroic  subjects,  talked  clever  criticism,  was  a  humorous 
satirist  of  political  parties,  dressed  more  or  less  aestheti- 
cally, gave  her  afternoon  receptions  in  rooms  of  a  semi- 
religious  darkness,  was  a  pleasant,  cultured,  odd,  out-of- 
the-common  hostess  ;  and  while  some  people  laughed  at 
her,  others  admired  her,  many  thought  her  exceedingly 
clever,  and  most  people  liked  to  go  to  her  receptions. 

Philip  was  devotedly  attached  to  his  mother,  but  he 
doubted  the  sincerity  of  certain  men  and  women  who, 
while  they  upheld  the  rebel  sentiments  of  the  Green,  man- 
aged to  make  themselves  very  happy  with  the  Red  among 
the  fleshpots  of  London.  But  for  himself  he  had  no  very 
strong  convictions  either  one  way  or  the  other,  nor  in  fact 
had  his  mother.    He  was  deeply  moved  at  all  times  by  a 


94  BY  ORDER  OP  THE  CZAR. 

tale  of  sorrow,  and  the  more  so  if  he  could  suggest  it  with 
his  brush.  He  was  like  a  musician  who  dramatizes  events 
and  emotions  in  musical  rhapsodies,  only  that  he  tried  to 
put  them  on  canvas,  and  he  confessed  to  Chetwynd  that 
the  incidents  of  so-called  Irish  rebellion  did  not  inspire 
him  with  a  single  subject  worth  painting.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  struggle  of  Liberty  with  Tyranny  in  Russia 
ennobled  the  cause  of  Freedom ;  it  made  men  heroes,  it 
made  women  divine. 

How  far  these  feelings  and  opinions  were  the  outcome  of 
serious  reflection  or  the  evr.nescence  of  an  artistic  habit  of 
thought,  influenced  by  a  poetic  temperament  and  fostered 
by  the  conversations  of  Dick  Chetwynd,  must  be  left  to 
the  judgment  of  the  reader  and  the  elucidation  of  events. 
Not  only  hjid  Philip  heard  his  father  speak  of  the  shame- 
less dishonesty  of  Russian  officials,  the  barbarism  of  the 
Russian  law  in  the  matter  of  political  offences,  in  regard 
to  which  the  English  law  is  so  especially  lenient,  but  he 
imbibed  from  some  of  his  mother's  foreign  visitors  a  des- 
perate hatred  of  Russia.  He  knew  by  heart  the  story  of 
Poland,  the  disabilities  of  Russian  serfdom  freed  only  to 
have  to  endure  worse  hardships  than  slavery ;  he  had 
heard  from  their  own  lips  some  of  the  horrors  endured  by 
political  prisoners,  though  it  was  a  perpetual  wonder  to 
him  how  any  of  the  refugees  he  had  met  could  ever  have 
escaped  Russian  vigilance,  without  the  talismanic  assist- 
ance of  gold. 

When  he  thought  of  the  struggles  of  brave  men  for 
constitutional  rights  in  Russia,  of  their  desperate  plots,  and 
their  fiendish  punishments,  he  found  no  word  of  defence 
against  Chetwynd's  impeachment  of  more  than  one  of  his 
mother's  Irish  friends,  who  were  enjoying  all  the  freedom 
of  the  crowned  Republic  of  England,  living  luxuriously  in 
her  great  metropolis,  and  still  prating  of  her  tyranny  and 
oppression,  and  who,  the  time  being  opportune,  would  be 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  f$ 

ready  to  play  the  part  of  traitors  to  their  friends  and  country. 
All  this  seemed  to  him  to  heighten  the  despotism  and 
cruelty  of  the  Russian  system,  and  to  confirm  the  right- 
eousness of  the  Nihilistic  fight  against  the  Czar.  But 
Philip's  was  not  a  logical  mind  ;  it  ^vas  moved  by  impulse, 
by  instinct,  it  was  emotional,  artistic,  sensitive,  and  it  had 
a  fateful  habit  of  thought  and  feeling,  which  qualities  pos- 
sibly may  belong  to  the  attributes  of  genius.  At  all  events 
Art  has  nothing  to  do  with  political  principles,  with  the 
philosophies  of  government,  or  with  constitutional  rights ; 
it  has  to  do  with  sentiment,  love,  nature,  the  affections,  and 
with  the  portrayal  of  noble  actions  and  fine  emotions, 
with  the  reproduction  of  landscape  on  canvas,  the  illustra- 
tion of  great  events,  the  glorification  of  virtue,  heroism, 
patriotism,  but  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  political  debates, 
with  revolutionary  action,  with  real  fighting,  with  the  for- 
mulation of  administrative  principles  ;  it  is  the  handmaiden, 
not  the  soldier ;  the  rewarder  of  noble  deeds  and  the  en- 
courager  thereto.  Such  at  all  events  was  the  idea  of  Art 
which  Chetwynd  tried  to  convey  to  Philip  Forsyth,  whom 
he  loved  with  a  sincere  friendship. 

As  a  political  journalist  Dick  Chetwynd  was  not  a 
success  ;  as  a  politician  he  was  too  honest  to  be  anything 
more  or  less  than  a  failure.  He  believed  that  if  the  Par- 
nellite  faction  were  sincere  in  their  desire  to  promote  the 
material  interests  of" Ireland,  the  question  at  issue  between 
the  two  great  parties  in  the  State  would  have  been  settled 
long  ago.  Not  that  he  defended  the  Tory  party  in  the 
past  any  more  than  he  approved  of  the  Gladstonian  Admin- 
istration. It  was  his  firm  belief  that  on  many  an  occasion 
the  Irirh  question  was  simply  used  on  both  sides  as  a 
political  shuttlecock,  without  the  slightest  reference  to 
what  was  best  for  Ireland,  England,  or  the  Empire.  At 
the  same  time  he  despised  the  rank  and  file  of  the  Irish 
party ;  believed  Parnell  to  be  more  or  less  the  victim  of 


g6  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

the  thing  he  had  created ;  thought  America  had  shame- 
fully abused  the  privileges  of  blood  and  friendship  in  per- 
mitting a  gigantic  conspiracy  to  be  hatched  and  kept  alive 
on  her  free  soil,  to  the  detriment  and  danger  of  the  mother 
country;  thought  Gladstone  had  only  one  desire  in  life, 
and  that  to  be  in  office  ;  regarded  Hartington  and  Cham- 
berlain as  patriots  of  the  noble  type ;  looked  upon  the 
principle  of  hereditary  legislatorship  as  a  grand  old  tradi- 
tional farce  ;  would  to-morrow  give  Ireland  such  a  measure 
of  local  self-government,  or  Home  Rule,  or  whatever  it 
might  be  called,  as  would  enable  her  to  conduct  her  own 
internal  business  without  reference  to  local  committees  at 
Westminster ;  was  fully  of  opinion  that  the  margin  of  per- 
sonal and  constitutional  liberty  in  England  was  so  wide 
and  deep  that  any  person  who  stepped  beyond  its  barrier 
should  be  shot ;  was  at  heart  a  Republican,  but  above  all 
things  an  Imperial  Unionist,  and  would  defend  to  the 
death  the  merest  scrap  of  soil  over  which  the  flag  had  ever 
floated ;  in  this  he  was  a  Cowenite,  as  he  said ;  loyal  to 
the  Crown  as  long  as  that  remained  our  legitimate  form  of 
government.  He  would  go  to  war  to-morrow  for  India 
against  Russia  or  all  the  world ;  would  fight  France  for 
Egypt  rather  than  revive  the  dual  control ;  would  make 
every  possible  sacrifice  for  the  honor,  prestige,  and  glory 
of  his  native  land  j  and  any  Government,  Radical  or  Con- 
servative, that  would  continue  to  give  us  the  security  of 
personal  liberty  and  maintain  the  integrity  of  the  Empire 
would  have  his  vote  and  interest.  It  need  not  be  pointed 
out  to  any  practical  politician  that  Dick  could  not  be 
successful  on  these  lines,  any  more  than  Joseph  Cowen,  the 
patriotic  member  for  Newcastle,  eould. 

Dick  was  a  Yorkshireman,  five-and- thirty,  married,  and 
the  father  of  a  young  family.  He  was  of  a  medium  height, 
broad  of  shoulder,  strong  of  limb,  inclined  to  make  adi- 
pose tissue  (as  his  doctor  told  him),  the  only  antidote  to 


<«. 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  ^ 

which  was  exercise,  and  Dick's  exercise  consisted  chiefly 
^  in  walking  up  to  Philip  Forsyth's  studio  from  his  house  in 
Dorset-square.  Dick  was  of  fair  complexion,  wore  his 
beard  broad  and  curly,  had  a  massive  forehead,  grey  eyes, 
a  rich  unctious  manner  of  speech,  and  was  known  rather 
for  his  pluck  and  cleverness  than  for  the  solidity  of  his 
character  or  the  perspicuity  of  his  political  views,  though 
he  was  an  established  and  independent  journalist  and 
something  more.  As  a  descriptive  writer  and  a  war  cor- 
respondent he  was  a  decided  success.  In  other  enter- 
prises of  later  days  he  had  not  failed.  His  literary  work 
and  his  criticisms  in  the  world  of  art  were  clearer,  sharper, 
and  better  defined  than  his  political  opinions,  though  in 
his  somewhat  complicated  politics  he  had  before  him  the 
encouragement  of  many  melancholy  examples.  As  a  jour- 
nalist on  the  warpath  he  had  told  the  story  of  the  Zulu 
War,  and  had  marched  with  Roberts  through  Afghanistan. 
He  had  exploited  the  Irish  revolt  in  the  American  cities, 
had  cabled  the  earliest  declarations  of  the  American-Irish 
plotters  from  Mill-street,  had  written  the  first  interview 
with  Rossa,  and  had  reported  one  of  the  secret  meetings  of 
the  Dynamiters  in  New  York.  He  had  traveled  through 
Russia  on  a  journalistic  mission,  and  had  seen  the  world 
under  many  and  varying  circumstances,  having  begun  his 
newspaper  career  at  eighteen. 

When  we  make  Dick  Chetwynd's  acquaintance  he  had 
settled  down  to  the  pleasant  work  of  independent  journalism 
and  the  secretaryship  of  an  Art  Club,  which  had  under  his 
excellent  management  become  a  monopoly  of  art-trading 
in  a  quiet  but  profitable  groove  of  what  seemed  dilettante- 
ism,  but  which  in  reality  was  solid  business.  "  The 
Rossetti"  was  a  club  and  gallery  controlled  by  half  a  dozen 
wealthy  noblemen,  who  were  guided  by  the  discreet  and 
clever  hand  of  Dick  Chetwynd.  It  gave  parties,  held 
exhibitions,  published  an    Art   Magazine,  dealt  in  art  " 


98  ■  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

treasures  in  a  high  and  exclusive  manner,  and  made  a  big 
annual  income,  fifteen  hundred  pounds  of  which  Chetwynd 
enjoyed  as  a  salary  j  and  he  had  perquisites,  besides  an 
unique  position  in  artist  society.  His  wife  was  a  bright, 
buxom,  clever  woman  of  the  world,  a  Londoner  with  all  a 
Londoner's  prejudices,  and  they  had  a  family  of  half  a 
dozen  children,  and  lived  in  good  style  in  Dorset-square, 
where  they  had  a  music  room  and  an  art  gallery  at  the 
rent  of  two  hundred  a  year,  which  in  the  more  fashionable 
regions  of  Kensington  would  have  been  worth  five  or  six. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"  THAT  woman's   FACE." 

"  And  you  think  you  interpret  the  subject  in  this  sketch 
of  a  company  of  prisoners  on  the  way  to  Siberia  ?  "  asked 
Chetwynd,  once  more  forcing  the  conversation  in  the 
direction  of  Philip's  work. 

"Yes,  I  cannot  imagine  anything  more  tragic,  can 
you?" 

"  I  could  think  of  many  subjects  more  poetically  tragic," 
said  Chetwynd,  "  but  none  which  in  your  hands  will  make 
a  more  remarkable  picture." 

**  An  Irish  eviction  ?  "  said  Philip,  smiling,  not  sarcas- 
tically, but  recalling  a  discussion  in  which  Chetwynd  had 
considered  it  necessary  to  dwell  upon  certain  cruelties  of 
eviction  in  order  to  keep  Philip  up  to  what  he  considered 
the  right  pitch  of  democratic  sentiment — for  Dick  was 
more  Radical  than  Rebel,  more  Reformer  than  Republican; 
and  in  all  this  he  was  one  of  the  anomalies  of  English 
political  life  in  these  days  of  political  evolution  and 
change. 

**  No,  not  an  eviction,  Mr.  Cynic,"  said  Dick;  "don't 
think  I  am  blind  to  the  due  proportions  of  tilings,  and  I 


Sy  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  99 

love  art  beyond  politics.     If  I  did  not  I  should  be  engaged 
at  this  moment  in  projecting  an  English  Republic." 

"  I  wonder  your  Rossetti  nobility  put  up  with  you." 

"  They  have  to  put  up  with  me,  old  man  j  besides  we 
don't  talk  politics,  and  (with  a  self-deprecatory  smile)  even 
noblemen  like  to  be  associated  with  intellect,  especially 
when  it  pays." 

"  Yes,  that  is  a  great  matter,"  Philip  replied  ;  "it  is  the 
rock  upon  which  I  shall  split." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Chetwynd ;  "  it  is  the  artist's  business 
to  think  of  his  art,  and  to  leave  the  question  of  paying  to 
Fate." 

"  And  yet  I  fancy  you  were  thinking  just  now  that  I 
should  have  a  much  better  chance  of  the  medal  with  a  con- 
v^entional  treatment  of  tragedy  than  with  a  realistic  study 
of  the  tragedy  side  of  Russian  tyranny  arid  Russian  hero- 
ism. Sometimes  in  one's  hatred  of  Russia  one  is  apt  to 
forget  that  the  tyranny  and  heroism  go  hand  in  hand ;  that 
they  come  from  the  same  people." 

"  It  is  generous  to  think  so ;  you  do  not  regard  Ireland 
as  the  Poland  of  our  day,  and  I  don't  ask  you  to  think  of 
it  in  that  light,  though  it  is  an  oppressed  nationality,  and  I 
have  faith  in  my  fellow  countrymen  when  I  find  so  many 
of  us  acknowledging  our  misdeeds." 

"  But  if  we  are  to  go  back  to  the  past  for  misdeeds  it 
seems  to  me  that  the  English  themselves  have  had  a  hard 
time  of  it,  not  to  mention  the  Scotch  and  the  Welsh.  But 
of  course  all  this  is  nonsense,  the  Irish  troubles  are  to  be 
mended  as  the  disabilities  of  the  masses  have  been  amend- 
ed ;  but  if  there  is  the  tyranny  in  Ireland,  the  abuse  of 
Irishmen,  some  of  my  fellow  bogtrotters  aver,  let  them  rise 
and  be  free  !  That  is  what  other  nationalities  have  done  ; 
and  if  they  have  the  cause  let  them  fight !  " 

"  We  were  talking  of  Art,  and  the  interpretation  of  Tra- 
|;edy,"  said  Dick  ;  ''  you  are  no  politician,  and  you  are  so 


no  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

pleased  with  your  life  in  London  that  your  gratitude  to  us 
brutal  Saxons  overcomei  your  judgment.  I  think  you 
would  have  a  better  chance  of  the  medal  if  you  took  a 
classic  subject  from  Roman  History.  Moreover,  it  would 
give  you  an  opportunity  of  showing  your  skill  as  a  student 
of  the  figure.  Siberia  gives  you  no  chance  of  a  careful 
study  of  the  nude  or  the  semi-nude." 

"  No,  but  it  gives  me  composition,  color,  sentiment,  feel- 
ing, intensity  of  expression." 

■*■  If  it  engages  your  enthusiasm,"  said  Dick,  "  do  it, 
Philip  !  Never  mind  whether  you  get  the  medal  or  not. 
Success  at  the  Academy  is  a  good  deal  of  a  lottery,  and  a 
medal  won  by  pandering  to  Academic  methods  of  faddism 
is  not  worth  having." 

"  Thank  you,  old  fellow,"  said  Philip  ;  "  you  are  to  me 
as  great  a  stimulus  as  success  itself.  Have  a  drink,  and  I 
will  tell  you  about  that  woman  you  see  in  the  foreground 
looking  defiance  at  the  brutal  Cossack." 

It  was  one  of  the  first  days  of  the  early  spring.  A  few 
flakes  of  snow  were  flying  about  in  the  sunshine,  looking 
like  scattered  cherry  blossoms.  Philip  called  Dick's  atten- 
tion to  them  as  he  drew  down  a  blind  to  keep  out  the 
sudden  sunshine  that  sent  a  white  beam  right  across  his 
picture. 

"  Let  us  welcome  the  Spring,"  said  Philip,  going  to  a 
cabinet  and  producing  a  bottle  of  champagne.  "  You  have 
had  luncheon  ?  " 

"  Yes.     You  are  a  luxurious  dog,  Philip." 

"  No.  I  sometimes  don't  drink  a  glass  of  wine  for  days 
together,  not  even  at  dinner.  This  is  a  brand  you  will 
approve  of ;  it  is  like  the  English  Spring,  a  flash  of  liquid 
sunshine." 

"  Here's  success  to  '  Tragedy  ! '  "  said  Dick,  taking  up 
the  glass  his  host  had  filled. 

'♦And  here's  to  Spring!"  said  Philip.    "The  loveliest 


•  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  loi 

season  of  all  the  English  year,  whatever  cynics  may  say 
about  it ! " 

"As  champagne  is  the  finest  of  all  wines,"  said  Dick, 
"  and  this  is  more  than  superb ;  Philip  Forsyth,  I  repeat 
you  are  an  extravagant  dog  !  " 

"  And  I  reply  I  am  none,  as  the  prisoner  said  to  Dog- 
berry. But  if  I  were,  I  am  spending  my  own  money,  and 
I  have  no  false  pride.  I  make  it  a  rule  never  to  let  a  week 
pass  without  its  pot-boiler." 

This  was  quite  true,  and  it  was  another  contradiction 
of  the  ordinary  interpretation  of  genius,  if  Philip  really 
was  a  genius.  The  young  fellow  did  not  believe  in  draw- 
ing all  his  supplies  from  his  mother;  if  he  dreamed  he 
worked.  There  was  none  of  the  careless,  indifferent 
impecuniosity  that  people  associate  with  genius  in  this 
-y^uff^  artist's  disposition.  He  not  only  made  a  sufficient 
income  to  supply  his  modest  or  luxurious  desires,  but  also 
to  enable  him  to  contribute  occasionally  an  article  oivertu 
to  his  mother's  rooms  in  Adelphi  Terrace,  the  most 
picturesque  and  inspiriting  situation,  he  contended,  in  all 
London.  But  his  pot-boilers  were  not  mere  convention- 
alities. They  were  bits  of  color,  impressions,  fancies, 
replicas  of  studies,  musings  in  tone,  and  trifles  of  various 
kinds — which  cost  him  neither  trouble  nor  labor,  and  of 
which  he  thought  nothing — for  his  ambition,  if  he  had  an 
ambition,  was  heroic — it  soared,  but  it  was  emotional,  and 
required  an  object. 

"  About  that  woman  :  last  week  at  the  opera  I  saw  a 
face  that  I  shall  never  forget.  It  was  partially  hidden  by 
the  box  curtains  which  draped  it,  the  neck  being  in  shadow^ 
the  remainder  of  the  figure  hidden.  It  was  a  woman  of 
thirty,  I  should  say,  with  the  suffering  of  a  century  in  her 
eyes ;  suffering  and  a  consuming  passion ;  the  pallid  face 
one  sees  in  prisoners  who  have  been  long  in  confinement, 
but  without  the  sad  resignation  that  mostly  accompanies  it. 


to4  ^y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

The  featuies  were  Grecian  in  their  regularity,  but  with  the 
capacity  for  passion  thrown  in  as  an  artistic  contradiction  ; 
a  straight  nose>  but  a  low,  square  forehead;  a  perfect 
mouth  in  form,  but  the  curves  tending  to  cnielty ;  the  face 
long,  the  expression  suggesting  the  lofty  scorn,  the  high 
sense  of  duty  of  a  Marie  Antoinette,  with  the  determina- 
tion and  murderous  fire  of  a  Charlotte  Corday.  Clytem- 
nestra  and  Diana  in  one  ;  a  something  lovable  and  loveJy 
with  homicidal  tendencies ;  an  indescribable  creature, 
whose  face  I  have  tried  to  suggest  in  that  sketch,  and 
whose  story  might  well  be  the  history  I  want  to  convey  in 
my  competition  for  the  medal !  Do  you  know  the  story  of 
Madame  Lapukin,  in  the  days  of  Elizabeth  of  Russia  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Chetwynd,  watching  the  play  of  Philip's 
mobile  features,  as  the  enthusiast  endeavored  to  convey  to 
him  an  idea  of  the  woman  whom  he  hoped  to  make  live 
again  on  canvas,  wondering  at  the  same  time  where  he 
would  get  his  model  if  he  could  not  find  the  woman  of  the 
opera  and  induce  her  to  sit  for  him. 

"  One  Germain  de  Lagny  tells  the  story,  in  his  account 
of  Russia,  translated  by  John  Bridgman  and  published  by 
Boguc    In  1760,  Madame  Lapukin,  a  rare  beauty,  the  envy 
of  the  Czarina,  said  to  have  betrayed  the  secret  of  the 
Empress'   liaison  with   Prince   Razoumowsky,   was   con- 
demned, in  spite  of  the  privilege  of  the  nobility  never  to 
suffer  the  punishment  of  the  knout,  to  be  publicly  whipped 
and  her  tongue  torn  from  the  roots  !     Think  of  it.     This 
lovely  \roman,  who  had  been  feted  and  caressed  by  society, 
the  beauty  of  a  luxurious  court !     She  was  stripped,  sub- 
mitted to  other  indignities,  and  her  flesh  cut  into  strips  from 
her  shoulders  to  her  hips.     Her  tongue  was  torn  out,  and 
then  with  a  refinement  of  cruelty  which  is  carried  out  to 
this  day  she  was  sent  into  hospital,  and  cured  of  her  wounds 
sufficiently  to  enable  her  to  be  marched  to  Siberia.     She 
did  not  die  by  the  way,  but  lived  to  be  recalled  by  Peter 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  W^ 

the  Third,  in  1762.  When  I  saw  that  face  at  the  opera  I 
said  to  myself,  it  might  have  been  the  face  of  Madame 
Lapukin,  waiting  for  an  opportunity  of  vengeance,  and 
when  the  Academy  announced  their  subject  I  thought  of 
that  terrible  tragedy,  and  I  saw  the  woman  ministering  to 
the  dying  on  the  road  to  Siberia,  praying  for  death  as  she 
must  have  done,  and  seeing  more  fortunate  ones  stumble 
and  fall,  to  be  left  in  the  wind  and  the  snow,  that  was  not 
so  cold  and  bleak  as  man's  inhumanity.  I  saw  her  moved 
by  the  tender  impulse  of  her  sex  in  the  midst  of  her  own 
suffering  to  lay  a  gentle  hand  upon  the  shrinking  arm  of 
her  fellow  prisoner,  and  followed  by  the  Cossack's  rough 
interposition,  and  then  I  saw  that  look  bfhate,  of  unavenged 
grief,  of  tiger-like  defiance  that  fascinated  me  in  the  face 
draped  by  the  opera  curtains.  Around  this  incident  grew 
at  once  all  the  rest,  and  I  have  written  right  across  it  in 
my  mind's  eye,  '  Tragedy.'  " 

"  You  are  a  brave,  wonderful  fellow,"  said  Dick,  rising 
and  taking  him  by  the  hand ;  **  if  you  were  not  a  painter 
to  have  this  outcome  for  your  feelings,  or  a  poet  to  put 
them  into  print,  you  would  be  a  Nihilist,  and  possibly  a 
victim  to  some  mad  plot  to  overtake  the  future  by  blowing 
up  the  Winter  Palace  and  shouting  *  victory '  as  you  fell 
under  the  crashing  timbers." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  he  said,  with  a  sad  smile,^  the  color 
returning  to  his  face,  which  had  become  as  pale  as  the 
imaginary  Lapukin's,  while  he  was  telling  the  woman's 
story. 

"I  do ;  but  this  saves  you,"  pointing  to  the  sketch ; 
"  and  it  is  a  greater  power  than  dynamite,  a  bigger 
reformer  than  the  knife  or  the  revolver.  Put  your  heroism 
into  your  pictures,  Philip,  and  I  will  forgive  you  for  not 
being  a  politician." 

*'  That's  all  right,"  said  Philip ;  "  anyhow  we  shall  always 
be  friends,  and  if  I  can  satisfy  your  critical  opinion  I  shall 
be  content  to  lose  the  medal." 


104  SY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

"In  the  meantime,"  said  Dick,  smiling,  "we  must  find 
that  woman  who  combines'the  beauties  and  terrors  of  the 
tiger  and  the  gazelle." 

**  Ah,  if  we  only  could  I  "  exclaimed  Philip. 

*'  If  we  only  could,"  said  Dick ;  •'  is  she  then  only  a 
dream  ?  " 

"  In  my  sketch,  yes;  but  at  the  opera  she  was  flesh  and 
blood." 

**  And  did  you  not  try  to  find  out  who  she  is  ?  " 

"Yes." 

<* On  the  night?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  since  ?  " 

"  Yes :  she  has  vanished  without  leaving  a  trace." 

*•'  How  do  you  know  that  she  has  disappeared  so  com' 
pletely  ?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

TWO   MERRY    SISTERS. 

'•  It  was  the  opera  of  Carmen,  said  Philip :  "  a  favorite 
opera  of  mine,  because  it  seems  to  me  to  be  a  consistent 
and  possible  story,  the  music  and  words  deftly  wedded, 
the  chorus  people  coming  in  naturally,  as  part  of  the  story 
and  not  merely  to  sing.  Indeed,  it  is  the  only  opera  in  which 
one's  imagination  does  not  seem  to  be  especially  or  remark- 
ably handicapped,  when  at  a  tragic  moment  the  hero  begins 
to  sing,  and  when  the  heroine,  being  stabbed  to  the  heart, 
or  dying  of  poison,  does  not  also  burst  out  into  a  wonder- 
ful effort  of  vocalization." 

"  Oh,  you  demand  realism  in  opera,  do  you  ?  And  yet 
I  hear  you  prefer  a  light  melodramatic  work,  such  as 
Carmen,  to  the  great  Wagnerian  dramas." 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  105 

"  Bui  I  don't  make  any  sweejyng  criticism  for  or  against 
any  ('p<r/a  or  any  composer,"  Philip  replied.  "  Carmen 
always  appealed  to  me  somehow  for  its  utter  naturalness : 
I  may  be  wrong,  I  dare  say  I  am.  Well,  it  was  at  the 
scene  where  Michavcl  tries  to  persuade  the  soldier  lover 
to  go  home — the  scene  .vith  the  banditti  in  the  mountains, 
you  know — when  I  was  suddenly  conscious  of  a  new  pres- 
ence in  the  house,  not  upon  the  stage,  but  in  the  theatre. 
I  had  glanced  aside  for  a  moment,  and  in  the  box  imme- 
diately opposite — Lady  Marchmount's  box,  in  fact — I  saw 
a  face  partially  hidden  among  the  curtains,  pale,  earnest, 
with  great  bright  eyes,  and  a  halo  of  dark  red  hair ;  the 
lips  were  parted,  the  face  all  eager  and  wonderfully  beautiful, 
and  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  the  eloquent  eyes  fell  upon 
mine.  I  was  fascinated ;  as  I  gazed  the  face  gradually 
withdrew  into  the  shadow  of  the  box.  When  the  act 
was  at  an  end  I  visited  Lady  Marchmount.  While  I 
shook  hands  with  her  ladyship,  I  looked  round  her  box, 
.  *  You  expected  Lord  Marchmount  ? '  she  said.  '  He  is 
obliged  to  be  at  the  House  ;  but  I  think  he  will  come 
before  the  end  of  the  last  act.  My  girls  are  with  their 
aunt ;  I  am  quite  alone.  Will  you  not  sit  ? '  I  thought 
she  seemed  to  be  talking  and  explaining  why  she  was 
alone  for  the  sake  of  putting  me  off  my  inquiry  as  to  the 
lady  who  was  in  the  box  during  the  bandit  scene ;  I  don't 
know  what  made  me  think  so.  *  But  the  lady,'  I  said, 
*  who  was  here  a  few  minutes  since  ? '  *  What  lady  ? '  she 
asked.  *  She  was  at  the  back  of  the  box,'  I  said.  *  I  have 
had  no  visitor  that  I  am  aware  of,  except  yourself.'  '  I 
beg  your  pardon,  perhaps  it  was  in  the  next  box ;  I  am 
sure  you  will  forgive  my  curiosity,  Lady  Marchmount,  but 
it  was  a  very  remarkable  and  beautiful  face,  and  it  went 
straight  home  to  my  imagination  as  the  very  face  I  want 
for  a  picture  I  am  going  to  paint.'  *  That  is  a  convenient 
excuse  you  artists  make  for  introductions  to  pretty  women. 


10$  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

but  I  have  had  no  lady  in  my  box  to-night.  If,  however, 
you  are  in  search  of  beauty,  what  say  you  to  Madame 
Petronovitch  ? '  She  indicated  the  royal  box  with  her  fan, 
and  handed  me  her  glass. 

*'  I  looked  over  the  way  and  saw  a  handsome  foreign- 
looking  woman,  chatting  with  a  distinctly  Russian  officer  ; 
both  animated,  the  lady  evidently  happy,  the  officer  some- 
what constrained  in  his  manner,  and  with,  as  I  thought, 
a  cruel  mouth,  and  a  cold  resolute  eye.  '  General  Petrono- 
vitch,' said  Lady  Marchmount,  '  the  famous  Russian 
diplomat  and  soldier  making  a  tour  of  Europe  by  way  of 
honeymoon,  coupled  with  official  business ;  is  to  honor 
the  Italian  Court  during  the  coming  festivities  at  Venice  ; 
a  compliment  to  Italy  which  troubles  France  and  does 
not  delight  Germany.  Lord  Marchmount  was  to  have 
come  to  bring  the  General  to  my  box,  and  no  doubt  will. 
Won't  you  stay?  '  *  Thank  you,  Lady  Marchmount,'  I  said, 
*  I  have  a  friend  who  is  a  stranger  to  the  town,'  which  was 
true  ;  a  young  fellow  to  whom  my  mother  was  anxious  I 
should  pay  attention.  So  I  left  the  box,  and  made  a 
survey  of  the  house  from  various  points,  but  my  mysterious 
and  beautiful  vision  was  nowhere  to  be  seen." 

"  It  was  not  a  vision  after  all,  eh  ?  not  a  dream  face, 
incident  and  all  ?  " 

*'  No,  it  was  a  reality,  and  I  cannot  help  thinking  Lady 
Marchmount  had  some  reason  for  saying  she  had  no  other 
visitor  except  myself." 

"  But  surely  she  would  not  have  told  a  deliberate  lie 
about  it  ?  " 

"  She  might  have  done  so  with  a  reservation." 

"  But  why  ?  " 

"  Ah,  there  you  bring  me  to  a  dead  stop." 

«  Would  it  have  been  possible  for  the  lady  to  have  gone 
into  the  box  and  Lady  Marchmount  not  have  seen  her?" 

'*  Yes,  if  the  door  had  been  left  open,  and  Lady  March- 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  107 

mount  had  been  deeply  interested  in  the  play ;  but  she 
was  not.  Her  interest  was  in  the  Russian  party  in  the 
Royal  box." 

**  Was  the  stranger  long  in  the  box?" 

"  About  as  long  as  it  took  me  to  tell  you  of  her.** 

"  She  was  very  much  in  earnest,  you  say ;  was  she  deeply 
interested  in  the  opera?  " 

"  On  reflection  it  seems  to  me  she  must  have  been 
directing  her  gaze  upon  the  Russian  box ;  and  yet  also  I 
fancied  she  looked  at  me  as  well.  But  the  incident  was 
brief,  and  what  struck  me  was  the  wonderful,  sad,  tragic 
beauty  of  the  face." 

**  Madame  Lapukin's  ghost,  Phil  1 " 

"  No  ghost,"  said  the  artist,  his  eyes  upon  the  face  he 
had  drawn. 

'*  Then  we  will  find  her.  You  have  all  one  requires," 
pointing  to  the  picture,  "  to  assist  an  independent  search. 
'Wanted,  a  mysterious  lady,  last  seen  at  the  opera  of 
Carmen  in  Lady  Marchmount's  box,  half  hidden  in  the 
curtains,  reminded  an  enthusiastic  artist  of ' " 

"Don't  scoff,  Dick,"  said  Philip;  "you  have  no  idea 
how  serious  I  feel  about  that  face." 

"  Of  course  you  do.  One  only  wants  the  assurance  of 
your  canvas  to  know  that.  But  what  other  steps,  i£  any, 
have  you  taken  to  find  madame?" 

"  I  have  been  to  the  opera  every  night  since,  m  and  out, 
making  calls ;  I  went  into  Milbanke's  box.  Then  another 
night  took  my  mother ;  another  went  into  the  stalls.  I 
strolled  into  the  Row,  cold  as  it  is,  and  I  have  called  upon 
Lady  Marchmount." 

"  And  no  clue  ?  " 

"  Not  the  slightest." 

"  What  does  Dolly — Miss  Norcott — say  to  it?** 

"To  what?" 

"  To  your  search  for  the  mysterious  beauty  ?  ** 

"  I  have  not  mentioned  the  subject  to  her." 


loS  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

"  But  I  thought  a  young  fellow  mentioned  pretty  well 
everything  to  his  Jianci^." 

*'  Dolly  is  not  my  ^ancie"  said  the  artist 

"Is  it  all  off,  then?" 

"  It  was  never  all  on." 

"  Oh,  indeed ;  excuse  me,  I  thought  from  what  your 
mother  said  the  other  night  it  was  settled,  and  that  you 
were  going  with  the  Milbankes  to  Venice." 

"  I  am  thinking  of  going  to  Venice." 

"  And  taking  a  studio  there  for  a  month  or  two  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Convenient  to  have  Dolly  and  her  very  amiable  sister 
there  at  the  same  time ;  save  you  from  ennui,  and  enable 
you  to  forget  that  woman's  face." 

**  I  shall  never  forget  it." 

"  Nor  will  the  public,"  said  Dick,  **  if  you  finish  your 
picture  as  you  have  begun  it.  I  don't  want  to  surprise 
your  secret,  but  Miss  Norcott  is  a  very  bright,  charming, 
and  desirable  young  woman." 

Philip's  reply  was  interrupted  by  a  triple  knock  at  the 
door,  followed  by  a  merry,  musical  voice  which  asked, 
"  Is  anything  dreadful  going  on  ?     May  we  come  in  ?  " 

'•  That  is  Dolly,"  said  Philip. 

"  Sounded  to  me  like  Mrs.  Milbanke,"  said  Dick. 

"  She  said  *  we,' "  observed  Philip,  going  to  the  door, 
"  and  that  *  we  '  means  Dolly  and  her  sister,  Jenny." 

"  Of  course  you  may,"  said  the  artist,  leading  in  a  pretty 
fashionable  girl  of  a  little  over  twenty." 

"  Jenny  is  with  me — she  stayed  to  speak  to  the  porter's 
wife.  Here  she  is ;  come  in,  Jenny,  there  is  nothing 
dreadful  going  on,  only  Mr.  Chetwynd,"  said  the  young 
lady,  in  a  pleasant  voice.  "Oh  yes,  there  is,"  she  con- 
tinued, all  in  the  same  breath,  and  looking  straight  at 
Philip's  sketch.  "  What  a  miserable  lot  I  But  how  clever  t 
Is  this  yours,  Mr.  Forsyth  ?  " 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  109 

"  Yes,  I  think  so,"  said  Philip,  his  manner  somewhat 
constrained  as  compared  with  his  frank  conversation  with 
Dick  Chetwynd. 

"  One  of  ForsytJi's  dreams,"  said  Chetwynd,  at  the  same 
time  greeting  Dolly's  sister,  Mrs.  Milbanke. 

'•  What  a  quter  dream,"  went  on  Dolly,  "  but  Mr. 
Forsyth  has  ugly  dreams." 

"  Not  always,"  said  Dick,  smiling  in  his  bland,  calm 
way.     "  You  are  looking  charming  this  morning." 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  one  of  Mr.  Forsyth's  dreams ;  I  am  a 
very  sober  reality.     Am  I  not,  Mr.  Philip  Forsyth?" 

Here  she  turned  her  merry  eyes  upon  Philip,  and  was 
the  very  antithesis  of  the  woman  in  the  picture.  Dolly 
was  beaming  with  good  health,  a  pretty  blonde,  with  a 
dainty  figure ;  very  modern,  an  artist  would  say,  and  so 
she  was  in  dress,  style  and  manner  ;  a  tennis  player,  a  flirt, 
and  yet  at  heart  a  good-natured  pleasant  London  girl.  And 
she  was  London,  every  inch  of  her,  with  all  the  London 
chic  and  audacity  ;  fearless  in  her  pleasant  ignorance  of 
art  and  all  its  branches,  except  the  art  of  dress  and  the  art 
of  small  talk ;  she  would  talk  on  anything,  art  or  what  not 
— the  musical  glasses  or  the  music  of  the  spheres ;  she 
laughed  at  her  own  ignorance  when  it  bet  ..me  too  apparent, 
but  she  could  waltz  divinely,  sing  snatches  of  all  the  mo- 
dern operas,  comic  and  otherwise,  play  bits  of  Wagner, 
Chopin,  Mendelssohn,  Sullivan  ;  never  finished  anything, 
however,  and  was  altogether  a  pretty,  dainty,  amusing, 
light-hearted  London  girl.  And  her  sister,  Jenny,  was  a 
great  deal  like  her,  only  a  little  more  staid  in  manner  and 
conversation,  she  being  married  and  Dolly  only  on  the  eve 
of  being  engaged.  They  were  of  medium  height,  both  of 
them,  the  one  a  little  prettier  than  the  other,  both  merry, 
both  touched  with  the  Society  mania  of  knowing  the 
"  smartest  people,  don't  you  know  ? "  both  flirts,  both 
genial,  pleasant  and  good  women.    Once  in  a  way  some 


no  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

conceited  person  of  the  opposite  sex  would  mistake  their 
free  and  unconstrained  manners,  and  trespass  by  sugges> 
tion  or  remark  upon  what  they  considered  their  good 
nature,  and  then  it  would  be  revealed  to  him  and  sundry 
that  Dolly  and  her  sister  "  stood  no  nonsense,"  to  use  a 
favorite  phrase  of  Mr.  Samuel  Swynford,  an  admirer  of  both 
the  sisters  and  especially  of  Dolly,  for  whom  it  was  gener- 
ally known  he  cherished  a  more  or  less  secret  passion. 
"  They  both  like  a  bit  of  fun,"  said  Sam  to  a  friend,  who 
had  heard  of  a  snub  Mrs.  Milbanke  had  administered  to  a 
certain  noble  lord,  "  but  they  know  just  how  far  to  go,  and 
any  fool  who  is  not  equally  well  informed  comes  a  cropper, 
I  can  tell  you,  if  he  presumes  upon  .their  good  nature.  It's 
like  a  bear  transaction  against  a  strong  syndicate.  I  knew 
a  fellow  who  did  a  big  bear  on  Nitrates  just  as  the  rise 
began  ;  he  did  not  know  how  the  north  wind  was  blowing 
any  more  than  did  your  noble  lord  when  he  ventured  to 
discount  the  high,  unblemished  and  beautifully  moral  char- 
acters of  Dolly  Norcott  and  her  sister  Jenny." 

They  were  daintily  dressed,  the  two  merry  sisters.  Dolly 
might  have  been  called  a  harmony  in  pink  ;  for  if  her  cloak 
was  of  dark  plush,  the  lining  was  of  soft  pink  silk,  and  her 
hat  was  of  some  indescribably  pinky  salmon  color,  in  tone 
and  sympathy  therewith.  Jenny,  her  sister,  was  dark,  not 
a  brunette,  but  her  hair  was  a  very  deep  brown,  her  eyes 
haze!,  her  complexion  what  Disraeli  would  have  called 
rich,  and  while  there  was  a  strong  family  likeness  to  her 
sister,  she  was  not  as  pretty  as  Dolly  ;  nor  had  she  the 
freshness  of  youth,  that  was  Dolly's  precious  possession 
both  in  fact  and  in  appearance.  Dolly  was  twenty-three, 
Jenny  was  thirty.  Jenny  wore  a  plush  cloak  of  a  dead 
gold  color,  and,  unbuttoning  it,  disclosed  a  lovely  dress  of 
ruby  silk.  She  wore  a  plush  hat  to  match  her  cloak,  tall  and 
stately  with  nodding  decorations,  such  as  gentlemen  find 
very  awkward  at  theatrical  matinees,  and  against  which 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  Ill 

one  of  the  free  and  independent  States  of  America  is  about 
to  pass  a  law.  Before  it  comes  into  force  it  is  to  be  hoped 
the  fashion  of  exaggerated  hats  will  have  changed,  though 
it  must  be  admitted  that  the  prevailing  fashions  are  not 
unpicturesque.  Dolly  Norcott  and  Mrs.  Milbanke  might 
have  been  presented  to  the  most  querulous  American  critic 
of  tall  hats  as  very  pleasant  arguments  in  their  favor,  and 
one  would  not  object  to  have  had  the  two  ladies  put  into 
competition  with  any  two  American  beauties  of  their  age, 
or  indeed  in  competition  with  any  two  sisters  of  any  other 
country,  though  of  late  years  America  has  claimed  the 
palm,  and  many  Englishmen  seem  to  have  conceded  to 
them  the  claim  for  feminine  beauty  over  the  old  country 
and  every  other. 

But  no  woman  in  all  the  world  grows  old  as  gracefully 
or  beautifully  as  an  Englishwoman  !  There  is  Lady 
Marchmount,  for  instance.  She  is  nearly  sixty ;  she  looks 
forty,  has  the  voice  of  thirty,  the  manners  of  a  matron,  the 
heart  of  a  girl ;  there  is  not  a  wrinkle  in  her  face,  nor  a 
white  hair  in  her  head.  And  yet  she  does  not,  as  do  many 
American  ladies  of  her  age,  dress  as  if  she  were  twenty  ; 
she  accepts  the  fact  of  her  age,  assumes  the  role  of  a  matron 
who  is  a  grandmother,  and  preserves,  as  she  will  to  her 
last  days,  a  charm  of  manner  and  a  womanly  grace,  which 
is  exceptionally  the  inheritance  of  Englishwomen. 

"  Don't  go  on  our  account,  Mr.  Chetwynd."  said  Mrs. 
Milbanke  ;  "  we  only  called  because  we  were  passing,  and 
Dolly  wondered  what  Mr.  Forsyth  was  doing.  We  have 
been  calling  on  Lady  Marchmount." 

*'  Many  people  there  ?  "  asked  Philip. 

"  No,  twenty  or  thirty,"  said  Dolly.  "  The  usual  set : 
members  of  Parliament's  wives,  a  prima  donna  engaged  to 
sing,  a  thought  reader,  and  several  persons  from  the  Italian 
Embassy." 

"  Many  ladies  ?  "  asked  Philip,  his  mind  running  on  the 
woman  of  the  opera. 


lis  S.y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

"  Why,  I  told  you,"  said  Dolly,  "  the  same  old  set ;  are 
you  still  dreaming  ?  There  was  a  very  plea?jant  man  who 
knows  Venice  well;  he  says  we  ought  to  stay  there  at  least 
two  months — that  for  his  part  he  could  live  there  for  ever, 
and  Jenny  told  him  you  are  going  to  have  a  studio  there 
and  paint,  at  which  he  was  deeply  interested." 

"  Oh,  here  you  are,"  said  Mrs.  Milbanke,  as  the  porter's 
wife  entered  with  tea.  "  I  ventured  to  ask  for  some  tea, 
Mr.  Forsyth,"  said  Mrs.  Milbanke.  '*  I  always  think  it  is 
so  delightful,  tea  in  a  studio ;  and  especially  when  there  is 
no  fuss  and  the  men  can  go  on  smoking.  *  Liberty  Hall,' 
as  Mr.  Samuel  Swynford  says." 

"  Just  so,"  said  Chetwynd.  "  Has  Mr.  Swynford  made 
a  fortune  yet  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know.  He  was  very  mysterious  the 
other  night  with  Walter  about  some  Transvaal  mines  that 
are  a  certainty.  I  don't  quite  know  whether  he  is  a  bull 
or  a  bear,  but  he  says  they  will  go  up  to  ten  premium,  and 
that  when  they  do  he  is  going  to  have  a  holiday.  He  has 
let  Walter  have  a  few  shares." 

"  Which  I  fear  will  settle  poor  Sam's  prospects,"  chimed 
in  Dolly,  "  as  Walter  told  him  ;  for  if  there  is  an  unlucky 
fellow  in  the  world,  it  is  Walter." 

"  He  does  not  think  so,"  said  Chetwynd  ;  "at  all  events 
he  does  not  look  it  when  he  is  out  with  his  wife  and  sis- 
ter." 

"Ah,  he  is  a  dear  fellow — Walter,"  remarked  Dolly, 
sipping  her  tea,  and  suddenly  remarking  to  Philip,  "  Won't 
you  make  me  a  cigarette  ?  I  might  take  one  whiff,  eh  ? 
There  was  a  Russian  woman  at  Lady  Marchmount's  who 
smoked  a  cigarette,  much  to  everybody's  surprise  ;  it  is 
true  she  only  smoked  it  in  the  hall  when  she  was  leaving. 
They  say  cigarette  smoking  grows  on  one  like  dram-drink- 
ing ;  your  mother.  Lady  Forsyth,  allows  it  at  her  Sunday 
evenings,  Mr.  Philip  ?  " 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  113 

"  Yes,"  Philip  replied,  "  she  allows  many  things  which  I 
don  t  think  I  should  permit." 

"•  Walter  won't  let  us  smoke,"  said  Mrs.  Milbanke ; 
"  not  that  we  want  to,  but  he  won't  have  it  at  all,  although 
he  himself  smokes  from  morning  till  night." 

'*  Walter  is  very  funny  about  his  smoking,"  said  Dolly ; 
"  he  says  it  is  a  good  thing  for  the  house,  and  a  good  thing 
for  him,  but  a  bad  thing  for  women — taints  their  breath, 
makes  them  mannish,  which  he  hates.  But  you  have  got 
a  rather  mannish  woman  in  your  picture,  Mr.  Forsyth." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  I  suppose  she  is  intended  to  be  tragic,  eh  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  I  thought  so  ;  the  young  man  is  dying  of  cold  and 
weariiiess,  and  she  wants  to  help  him,  and  that  Cossack 
soldier  won't  let  her.  What  a  look  she  gives  him !  It 
will  be  a  fine  picture." 

**  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  exclaimed  Philip,  with  a  smile  of 
satisfaction.     "  Dick  is  pleased  with  it." 

"Then  it  must  be  good,"  remarked  Jenny,  "if  Mr. 
Chetwynd  thinks  so,  and  is  not  afraid  to  put  his  thoughts 
into  words." 

"  Indeed,  you  seem  to  know  me,  Mrs.  Milbanke.  What 
a  pleasant  thing  it  is  to  have  a  character  that  every  one 
can  read  like  a  book — to  wear  one's  heart  upon  one's  sleeve, 
as  Shakspere  has  it." 

"  For  daws  to  peck  at,  eh  ?  Then  I'm  a  daw,  Mr.  Chet- 
wynd, thank  you.  You  didn't  think  I  knew  my  Shakspere, 
I  suppose.  Come,  Dolly,  now  we  must  go.  I  have  scored 
off  Mr.  Chetwynd,  and  I  will  not  stay  a  minute  longer." 

'*That  is  so  like  Jenny,"  Dolly  remarks  to  Philip; 
"  whenever  she  wins  anything  she  leaves  off.  Some  people 
lay  down  their  cards  or  their  bat  or  leave  the  tables  when 
they  lose,  Jenny  always  leaves  when  she  wins." 

"  Except  that  once,  Dolly,  at  Monte   Carlo ;  do  you 

8 


fJ4  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

remember?  Don't  think  I  gamble,  Mr.  Chetwynd,but  at 
Rome  do  as  the  Romans  do.  We  were  at  Monte  Carlo 
last  winter  with  Walter,  and,  of  course,  we  went  to  the 
tables.  I  know  nothing  about  Faro  and  that  kind  of  thing, 
I  simply  backed  the  red — it  was  the  day  before  we  left — it 
came  up  five  times,  five  times  ten  pounds,  and  then  I  put 
all  the  fifty  on ;  it  came  up  again,  and  then  I  would  leave. 
Don't  you  think  I  was  wise  ?  " 

"You  are  always  wise,  and  always  delightful,"  said 
Dick. 

"  Come  along,  Dolly.  Good-bye,  Mr.  Forsyth.  I  know 
Mr.  Chetwynd  is  going  to  say  something  sharp  and  cutting  j 
I  won't  hear  it.  Come  along,  Dolly ;  I  can  hear  the  car- 
riage on  the  gravel.  I  told  him  to  come  for  us  in  a  quarter 
of  an  hour.  Au  revoir,  Mr.  Forsyth  \  you  are  coming  to 
dinner." 

"  To  talk  over  Italy,  and  especially  Venice,"  said  Dolly, 
turning  the  battery  of  her  eyes  upon  Philip.  And  what 
lovely  eyes  they  were,  blue  as  an  Italian  sky,  her  lips  as 
red  as  its  coral,  and  her  whole  figure,  appearance,  manner, 
voice,  the  warm  pressure  of  her  hand,  radiating  health  and 
sensuous  good  nature. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE   MILBANKES    AT   HOME. 

"  By  Jove,  you  are  to  be  envied,"  exclaimed  Dick  when 
the  two  women  had  left ;  '*  as  fine  a  woman  as  the  most 
fastidious  Sybarite  with  a  love  of  life  and  domestic  happi- 
ness could  desire.  Just  the  kind  of  girl  for  you  ;  not  too 
learned,  no  dreams,  enough  appreciation  of  art  to  give  you 
a  frank  and  useful  opinion — the  outside  opinion,  the  opinion 
of  the  public  ;  no  sulks,  no  mad  passion,  plenty  of  common 
sense,  good  spirits,  a  nice  little  fortune,  would  entertain 


By  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  II5 

your  guests  right  merrily.  I  think  your  mother  is  very 
wise  to  encourage  the  match.  And  the  right  sort  of  family 
to  go  into.  Walter  Milbanke  is  as  good  a  fellow  as  there 
is  going ;  got  a  snug  conveyancing  practice  left  by  his 
father.  His  mother  is  rich.  Dolly's  people  are  in  good 
society  and  well  off,  and  Mrs.  Milbanke  is  one  of  the  most 
charming  and  agreeable  of  hosts.  Why  don't  you  settle  it 
all,  Phil?  You  are  the  sort  of  young  fellow  who  should 
get  married.  You  want  sympathy,  and  you  want  a  com- 
fortable and  well-managed  home." 

"  She  is  a  delightful  girl,  Dolly — as  you  say,  Dick,"  very 
pretty.  I  am  sure  she  is  generous,  in  spite  of  that  sugges- 
tion of  worldliness  that  comes  out  in  her  conversation.  But 
she  is  not  like  that  with  me.  I  think  it  is  part  of  the  cj^g- 
rent  coin  of  Society ;  but  I  hate  Society." 

"  No,  you  don't,  old  chap ;  you  hate  what  people  call 
Society,  but  you  like  what  we  call  Society,  what  your  mother 
calls  Society,  what  my  wife  calls  Society  ;  you  enjoy  that, 
and  you  can  make  your  own  set.  When  you  marry  Dolly, 
you  can  interpret  your  own  idea  of  Society,  and  translate 
it  as  you  please.  Come,  old  fellow,  don't  brood  over  the 
gold  medal ;  don't  think  too  much  of  the  model  you  want 
for  the  forlorn  woman  in  the  foreground.  We  will  find 
her,  or  another  as  good.  Come  up  into  the  East  End  one 
day  (your  tragic  heroine  has  a  Jewish  cast  of  countenance), 
I  will  take  you  to  a  Jewish  quarter  where  you  will  find 
several  Polish  faces  that  might  sit  for  your  Siberian  pic- 
ture." 

**The  despair  would  be  there,  perhaps,"  said  Philip, 
"  but  not  the  beauty,  not  the  dignity,  not  the  strength,  not 
the  threat  of  vengeance  in  the  eyes,  not  the  deep  strange 
reminiscence  of  suffering  I  saw  in  the  mouth,  and  in  the 
clenched,  bony,  but  refined  fingers ;  no,  that  is  a  face  I 
should  say  one  is  likely  to  see  once  in  a  lifetime." 

Let  us  follow  Mrs.  Milbanke  and   her  sister  home. 


||6  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

Dolly  Norcott  lives  with  her  parents  at  Norwood,  but 
spends  most  of  her  time  at  Westbury  Lodge,  St.  John's 
Wood  Road.  They  call  it  Westbury  Lodge  because  Walter 
Milbanke  has  an  estate  at  Westbury,  near  Bristol,  and 
there  is  a  little  territorial  vanity  in  this  association  of 
name.  It  is  a  picturesque,  two-storey  house,  fenced  in, 
and  looking  the  daintier  for  the  fencing  when  the  front 
gate  is  open  and  you  get  a  glimpse  of  a  long  grass-covered 
path,  at  the  end  of  which  there  is  a  tesselated  hall,  and 
beyond  a  back  garden,  with  tennis  nets  and  flowers. 

Westbury  Lodge  is  by  no  means  palatial,  but  it  is 
sufficient  for  the  wants  of  the  Milbankes,  Walter  often 
declaring  that  if  he  were  worth  twenty  thousand  a  year  he 
would  not  want  a  larger  house,  nor  would  he  desire  to  live 
one  jot  more  ostentatiously  than  at  present ;  though  his 
wife  ventures  to  remark  that  she  hopes  if  ever  he  has 
twenty  thousand  a  year  he  will  go  into  Parliament,  and 
work  his  way  into  the  Cabinet  as  So-and-So  has  done,  and 
as  So-and-so  means  to  do. 

Walter  meets  his  wife  and  sister  in  the  hall,  kisses  them 
both,  asks  where  they  have  been,  what  the  news  is,  and 
tells  them  he  has  only  just  come  from  the  office ;  hopes 
dinner  will  not  be  late — he  has  asked  Sam  Swynford  to  join 
them.  Jenny  says  she  thinks  that  unfortunate,  and  asks 
if  he  has  forgotten  that  Philip  Forsyth  is  coming,  and  that 
the  occasion  is  the  talking  over  the  Venice  trip.  No, 
Walter  says  he  has  not  forgotten  ;  and  the  fact  is,  he  says* 
he  does  not  choose  to  have  this  fast  and  loose  business  of 
Mr.  Philip  Forsyth,  and  he  is  not  sure  that  Sam  Swynford 
would  not  be  a  much  better  match.  Anyhow  he  regards 
it  as  a  good  idea  to  bring  the  two  young  fellows  together 
as  much  as  possible,  that  Dolly  may  make  up  her  mind,  or 
that  the  two  young  fellows  may  kill  each  other  or  do  some- 
thing. For  his  part  he  does  not  intend  this  affair  to  go  on ; 
if  Philip  accompanies  them  to  Italy,  why,  of  course,  that 
may  be  said  to  settle  the  question. 


BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  Uf 

"  Biit  he  would  go,  Wally  dear,  whether  we  go  or  not. 
He  has  taken  a  studio  there,  or  intends  to  do  so." 

"  He  expressed  no  intention  of  the  kind  until  he  knew 
we  were  going  there." 

"  That  is  true,"  the  wife  replied. 

"  And  his  mother  has  twice  spoken  to  me  about  Dolly, 
and  expressed  a  hope  that  she  and  Forsyth  would  make  a 
match  of  it  at  once.  *  How  happy  could  I  be  with  either,' 
eh  ?  "  continued  Walter,  putting  one  arm  round  Dolly  and 
another  round  his  wife,  and  leading  them  into  the  drawi  ng 
room.     "  That's  your  sentiment,  eh,  Dolly?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,  Wally.  I  think  I  hke  Philip  best. 
He  is  romantic  and  interesting ;  far  more  distinguished  in 
appearance  than  Sam  ;  and  is  likely  to  make  a  name  and  a 
great  position." 

'*  When  you  will  have  to  do  all  the  worshipping,"  said 
Walter.  "  These  artistic  geniuses,  these  men  of  distinction 
— authors,  painters,  artists,  actors — they  don't  make  good 
husbands  as  a  rule  ;  they  have  whims  and  humors — moods, 
I  believe  they  call  them  ;  the  more  successful  they  are  the 
more  dreamy  and  exacting.     Society  spoils  them." 

"  But  I  am  bound  to  say  Philip  puts  on  no  airs,"  Dolly 
replied  ;  "  he  is  very  modest,  considering  how  clever  he  is." 

•*  Oh,  yes,  no  doubt ;  but  when  success  comes  then 
comes  hero-worship  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  For  show, 
I  daresay  Forsyth  would  make  the  best  husband  ;  a  fine, 
handsome,  young  man  to  sit  by  your  side  at  the  opera,  to 
drive  in  the  park  with,  if  he  had  ever  time  to  drive  in  the 
park,  and  for  other  women  to  envy  and  try.  to  get  him  away 
from  you.  But  for  a  good,  honest,  devoted,  useful,  and 
wealthy  husband — and  I  say  wealthy  advisedly,  he  knows 
what  he  is  about — I  would  back  Sam  Swynford.  You  could 
have  your  own  way  with  him,  just  as  Jenny  has  with  me." 
This  Walter  said  with  an  audible  chuckle,  adding,  "  Sam 
is  by  no  means  the  fool  some  people  affect  to  think  him ; 


Iig  BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

I  know  that  he  made  ten  thousand  pounds  last  week  in 
Primitivas — bought  them  at  seventy  and  held  on  like  grim 
death  till  they  went  up  to  two  hundred  and  twenty. 
Think  of  the  courage  of  a  stroke  like  that,  and  the  know- 
ledge ;  there  is  not  a  cooler  head  nor  a  softer  heart  on  the 
whole  Exchange.  And  now,  my  dears,  as  you  are  in  full 
possession  of  my  views,  I  vote  you  go  and  dress  for  dinner 
and  act  accordingly." 

They  dressed  together,  the  two  sisters.  Never  were  two 
young  women  more  devoted  to  each  other.  Dolly  was  as 
proud  of  Jenny's  clever  domestic  abilities  as  Jenny  was 
of  Dolly's  beauty.  Jenny  admired  Dolly's  singing  beyond 
even  the  vocalization  of  Patti.  Dolly  thought  Jenny  the 
most  charming  of  conversationalists.  There  were  two 
couches  in  the  room  to  which  Walter  had  dismissed  them 
for  the  mysterious  ceremony  of  dressing.  The  lounges 
were  speedily  occupied  by  the  two  ladies,  in  dressing 
gowns  and  slippers,  attended  by  a  clever  French  maid, 
who  brought  them  tea  in  two  tiny  pots  and  then  left  them 
to  decide  what  they  would  wear  on  this  momentous 
occasion,  for  on  this  night  Dolly  was  expected  to  bring 
Philip  Forsyth  to  book,  or  make  up  her  mind  to  accept 
Sam  Swynford  :  not  that  Sam  had  proposed,  but  it  was 
believed  that  he  would  do  so  on  the  slightest  provocation. 

"  You  ought  to  be  a  very  happy  girl,"  said  Jenny. 
"  How  happy  could  you  be  with  either." 

"  How  did  you  ever  make  up  your  mind  to  marry 
Walter?"  Dolly  asked  in  a  half  drowsy  kind  of  way. 

"  Easily  enough ;  he  was  a  good  fellow,  not  a  bit  jealous, 
had  a  good,  sound,  settled  income,  and  loved  me  to  distrac- 
tion, as  he  does  now." 

"Yes,"  said  Dolly,  "but  you  had  lots  of  offers,  mother 
says." 

*♦  Well,  I  don't  know ;  I  might  have  had,  but  the  fact  is 
I  hadn't  any  more  than  you  have,  Dolly,  dear." 


BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  1 19 

"  But  could  have,  Jenny,  could  have,  only  that  spoils 
the  fun.     Best  to  lead  them  on  a  little  and  stop  short  of 
that,  eh?     You  said  so,  you  know,  when  I  came  out." 
"  And  was  not  the  advice  good  ?  " 
"  Yes,  I  think  so." 

"  Well,  I  declare,  Dolly,  you  are  going  to  sleep." 
"  I  am  very  tired ;  only  forty  winks.  Is  there  time  ?  " 
*'  Plenty,  my  darling,"  and  as  Jenny  said  so  Dolly  buried 
her  face  in  the  great  sofa  cushions,  and  composed  herself 
to  enjoy  her  siesta.  **  Don't  trouble  about  thinking  of 
waking,  I  will  call  you  in  time,"  added  Jenny,  taking  up 
one  of  the  latest  French  novels,  which  she  had  smuggled 
into  Westbury  Lodge  without  Walter's  knowledge,  for 
Walter  had  vowed  many  a  time  that  he  would  no  more 
think  of  having  an  objectionable,  fast,  immoral  book  in  his 
house,  than  he  would  think  of  inviting  a  bad  lot  to  dinner. 
But  what  was  the  good  of  being  able  to  read  French  with 
facility,  coupled  with  possessing  a  taste  for  racy  fiction^ 
without  going  to  the  fountain  head  for  it  ?  Not  that  Jenny 
understood  half  that  was  insinuated  or  set  forth  in  the 
direction  Walter  denounced,  and  she  hated  to  have  any- 
thing like  a  scene  with  the  dear  fellow ;  so  she  deceived 
him  a  little,  "not  in  any  serious  way,  don't  you  know?'' 
as  she  explained  to  Dolly,  but  just  to  protect  both  Walter 
and  herself  from  scenes.  In  the  same  way  she  occasionally 
permitted  wha};  Society  butterflies  termed  tributes  to  her 
beauty,  in  the  way  of  a  little  flirtation,  which  she  did  not 
mention  to  Walter  because  she  did  not  want  him  to  be 
"punching  men's  heads  or  calling  them  out,  don't  you 
know  ?  "  She  had  with  these  little  shortcomings  of  Eve 
all  the  other  good  qualities,  and  the  historian  is  not  disposed 
to  quarrel  with  her,  the  more  so  that  she  always  strove  to 
make  herself  attractive  and  interesting  in  the  eyes  of  her 
husband,  for  whom  she  had  a  real  sentiment  of  love  and 
respect,  except  once  in  a  way  when  he  had  a  preaching  fit 


ISO  £y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

on,  and  talked  a  little  louder  than  necessary  about,  what  he 
would  have  in  his  own  house  and  what  he  would  not  have. 

It  was  Jenny's  dressing-room,  adjoining  Walter's 
chamber,  to  which  the  sisters  had  retired,  but  Dolly  and 
Jenny  literally  lived  together  when  Dolly  was  on  a  visit  at 
Westbury  Lodge,  and  the  room  had  been  fitted  up  with 
this  understanding ;  so  that  there  were  two  almost  facsimile 
toilette  tables,  flashing  with  cut  glass  bottles,  radiant  with 
silver-backed  brushes,  sparkling  with  gems,  and  furnished 
with  the  various  luxurious  appointments  of  a  fashionable 
woman's  room.  The  walls  of  the  apartment  were  decor- 
ated in  what  Jenny  called  complexion  colors ;  the  curtains 
white  lace  and  pink  silk,  the  mirrors  Louise  Quinze,  the 
atmosphere  pleasantly  perfumed,  the  floor  of  sandal  wood, 
covered  with  Persian  rugs.  It  is  fitting  that  we  retire 
while  the  doves  of  this  pretty  nest  plume  themselves  for 
their  guests,  to  return  presently,  after  pinning  and  schem- 
ing of  maid  and  mistress,  the  last  touch  of  rouge  or  powder, 
and  the  last  critical  glance  into  the  glass. 

The  result  must  be  pronounced  satisfactory.  Jenny 
poses  before  her  mirror  in  a  pale  yellow  tea  gown  of  soft 
silk,  trimmed  at  the  throat  and  wrists  with  Mecklenburgh 
lace,  a  trail  of  daffodils  on  the  right  shoulder  a  la  Bern- 
hardt, a  chain  of  old  Dutch  silver  round  her  neck,  and  on 
her  yellow  silk  shoes  buckles  to  match,  ornaments  that  had 
once  belonged  to  a  rich  burgomaster's  wife.  Her  black 
hair  had  in  its  folds  old  silver  pins,  one  of  which  might 
have  been  used  to  stab  a  rival  queen  in  some  sensational 
novel.  She  was  pleased  with  herself,  as  well  she  might  be. 
Having  adjusted  the  last  pin  and  arranged  the  last  flower, 
Jenny  turned  with  merry  eyes  to  Dolly,  who  was  a  perfect 
picture  of  health,  happiness,  and  mischief,  in  the  simplest 
of  white  crape  Empire  dresses,  a  pair  of  tiny  diamond 
earrings,  her  hair  dressed  high  in  loops  and  curls,  a  bunch 
of  lilies  of  the  valley  at  her  white  throaty  devoid  of  orna* 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  ISI 

ment,  a  simple  diamond  ring  on  one  finger,  and  a  flush  of 
pride  and  ambition  upon  her  fair  checks.  Dolly  looked 
conscious  of  her  beauty ;  she  already  in  imagination  hud 
Philip  at  her  feet,  and  saw  herself  sitting  by  his  side  in  a 
Venetian  gondola,  listening  to  the  love  songs  and  choruses 
of  minstrels,  floating  with  the  tide  past  Desdemona's 
window. 

"  Now,  girls,  are  you  ready  ?  "  asks  Walter,  putting  his 
head  just  inside  the  doorway.  "  I  see  you  are.  That's 
right.  Nothing  like  punctuality ;  and,  by  Jove,  how  well 
you  look.  I  don't  know  which  to  admire  most.  But  you 
have  both  your  own  individual  styles  of  beauty.  Dolly, 
you  look  like  a  picture  I  once  saw  in  a  book  of  beauty — 
one  of  the  mezzotint  school,  called  the  Dove  of  Amsterdam ; 
just  as  fair,  just  as  soft,  just  as  full  of  health  and  fun. 
Come  along,  Jenny  ;  you  need  no  compliments  to  maintain 
your  courage.  You  have  not  to  meet  the  momentous 
question  of  your  life  to-night ;  that  was  settled  long  ago, 
and  you  have  never  regretted  it,  have  you,  dear  ?  " 

"Never,  Walter,"  she  replied,  "and  I  hope  Dolly  will 
be  able  to  say  the  same  with  as  clear  a  conscience  as  I  can, 
ten  years  from  now." 

.   «*  Then,  it  is  to  be  settled  to-night,  Walter,  is  it  ?  "  Dolly 
asks. 

"  I  suppose  so,  my  love.  Jenny  says  so,  Lady  Forsyth 
says  so — I  called  there  on  my  way  home  this  afternoon, 
and  she  was  full  of  it — and  I  conclude  that  I  am  expected 
to  say  the  same." 

"  And  do  you  mean  to  say  that  before  the  door  closes 
upon  our  two  friends  for  the  night,  that  I  shall  be  engaged 
to  marry  one  of  them  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  'don't  know  that  I  go  so  far  as  that,"  said 
Walter ;  "  I  thought  it  was  to  be  understood  that  if 
Forsyth  accepted  my  invitation  to  accompany  us  to  Italy, 
that  would  be  considered  as  tantamount  to  a  declaration." 


I  at  By  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  nonsense  Lady  Forsyth  would  talk," 
said  Jenny,  "  but  that  is  not  what  I  mean,  and  it  is  not 
what  Dolly  means.  If  ever  Mr.  Philip  Forsyth  is  to  |)ro- 
pose,  he  will  do  so  this  very  night ;  and  if  he  docs  not, 
Sam  Swynford  shall  to-morrow." 

"  Oh,  that's  the  programme,  is  it  ?  "  said  Walter. 

"  That's  the  programme,"  Jenny  replied,  in  her  pretty 
but  emphatic  way ;  and  so  the  trio  went  down  into  the 
drawing-room,  almost  at  the  same  moment  that  Mr.  Philip 
Forsyth  was  announced. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

MAN    PROPOSES. 

Waltf.r  Milbanke  was  under  the  impression  that  he  was 
master  in  his  own  house,  and  his  wife  was  clever  enough 
to  keep  this  belief  alive.  She  had  her  own  way  without 
appearing  to  oppose  Walter  in  the  smallest  thing.  His 
father  had  made  it  a  rule  to  govern  his  household  auto- 
cratically. "  Have  a  wife,  and  rule  a  wife,"  was  his  motto, 
and  he  instilled  it  into  Walter,  but  Walter's  was  a  far  more 
gentle  nature  than  that  of  his  deceased  father,  and  Jenny 
Norcott  had  had  sense  enough  to  discover  this  the  very 
first  day  she  was  introduced  to  him,  and  on  which  very 
first  day  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  have  him  to  pro 
pose  to  her,  and  to  promptly  accept  him.  Within  twelve 
months  of  that  very  first  day  they  were  married. 

This  was  ten  years  ago,  and  they  had  lived  a  happy  life 
ever  since — Jenny,  a  clever  housekeeper,  fond  of  society 
and  dress,  Walter  decrying  "  that  sort  of  thing,"  but 
enjoying  it  all  the  same,  and  Westbury  Lodge  being  known 
among  a  certain  set  of  pleasant  people  as  a  Paradise  of 
good  management  and  merry  receptions. 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  \i% 

The  children — there  were  three  of  them — were  not 
allowed  to  interfere  with  the  social  pleasures  of  the  house  ; 
they  had  good  nurses  and  well-arranged  apartments,  and 
only  now  and  then  were  permitted  to  be  in  evidence  in 
drawing  or  dining  room.  Their  mother  visited  them  once 
a  day,  and  romped  with  them  or  read  them  stories,  or 
heard  their  lessons,  and  at  night,  when  she  was  at  home, 
they  said  their  little  prayers  at  her  knee.  They  came  to 
dinner  at  birthdays  or  at  Christmas,  they  went  out  in 
the  carriage  for  a  daily  airing,  and  sometimes  into  the 
park,  wonderfully  dressed,  and  with  French  servants  pic- 
turesquely attired.  Walter,  while  he  said  Jenny  was  fond 
of  showing  off  the  children  when  they  went  out,  liked  to 
see  the  display,  and  was  a  happy  well-to-do  fellow,  with  a 
good  word  for  most  people,  rarely  a  bad  word  for  anybody, 
except  once  in  a  way,  when  the  attentions  to  his  wife  of 
some  snob  or  other,  who  did  not  understand  her  free  and 
frank  manner,  aroused  his  marital  dignity,  and  on  one 
occasion  he  actually  slapped  a  fellow's  face,  and  then 
called  him  out.  This  was  in  the  first  year  of  his  marriage. 
He  had  since  learned  what  a  man  must  put  up  with, 
having  a  pretty  and  charmingly-dressed  wife,  who,  assured 
of  her  position,  is  somewhat  too  fearless  in  what  she  says 
and  does  before  strangers. 

Under  these  conditions  of  domestic  administration  it  is 
hardly  necessary  to  say  that  the  dinner  to  which  Walter 
had  invited  Swynford,  and  Mrs.  Milbanke  Philip  Forsyth, 
was  an  adequate,  pleasant  and  cheery  repast ;  no  fuss, 
no  formality — as  Walter  said,  en  famille — feight  o'clock, 
bright  fires  (it  was  the  last  week  in  March,  and  the  En- 
glish Spring  was  setting  in  with  its  accustomed  severity), 
two  good  dishes  among  the  kickshaws,  a  bottle  of  dry 
champagne,  no  nonsense  about  whitewash  after  dinner,  but 
a  drop  of  Margeaux  and  as  quickly  as  might  be  afterwards 
a  good  cigar  and  a  thimbleful  of  black  coffee,  and  join  the 
ladies  in  half  an  hour. 


fS4  ^y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

Walter  had  a  glib  and  happy  vocabulary,  a  touch  of  the 
Charles  Mathews  manner,  and  which  his  wife  in  moments 
of  badinage  said  had  come  to  him  ever  since  he  played, 
at  some  private  theatricals,  the  leading  part  of  "Patter 
versus  Clatter." 

During  that  one  good  cigar  after  dinner,  Walter  had 
tried  to  talk  of  the  Venetian  trip,  which  had  often  been 
discussed  by  the  Westbury  Lodge  household,  to  be  at  last 
finally  settled  upon.  Philip  had  of  his  own  accord  ex- 
pressed a  wish  to  accompany  the  party,  and  his  mother  had 
secretly  confided  to  Mrs.  Milbanke  that  this  proposal  was 
preliminary  to  a  second  one  of  a  more  important  nature. 

The  Milbankes  were  well  satisfied  with  this  arrangement. 
Dolly,  while  she  flirted  with  Sam  Swynford,  and  indeed 
with  any  other  eligible  gentleman  who  came  in  her  way, 
was  far  more  serious  with  Phil  Forsyth  than  with  anyone 
else,  had  indeed  gone  so  far  as  to  dance  with  him  at  Lady 
Marchmount's  ball  five  times,  to  Phil's  entire  satisfaction 
and  to  ihe  envy  of  several  of  his  acquaintances. 

Philip  Forsyth,  being  of  a  more  or  less  reflective  turn 
of  mind,  and  a  student  in  name  and  in  reality,  enjoyed 
the  light-hearted  chat  and  merry  ways  of  Dolly,  and  it 
irtust  be  confessed  she  was  a  very  bright  and  pretty  girl. 
She  had  dark  brown  eyes,  a  fair  complexion,  light  brown 
hair  with  a  suggestion  of  sunshine  in  the  tone  of  it,  a 
straight  little  nose,  that  had  in  early  youth  made  up  its 
mind  to  be  retroussi,  and  had  become  more  demure  later  on, 
to  develop  into  a  coquettish  something  between  humorous 
snub  and  serious  straight,  the  effect  of  which  was,  to 
quote  Sam  Swynford,  "  awfully  taking,  my  boy."  She  had 
a  dainty,  willowy  figure,  not  too  willowy,  but  with  sufficient 
roundness  to  suggest  generosity  of  living  and  generosity 
of  nature.  Coupled  with  all  this  she  had  a  musical  little 
laugh,  which  in  an  ugly  girl  would  have  been  called  a 
giggle,  but  in  the  case  of  Dolly  was  a  pretty  trill  of  gaiety 


Sy  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  135 

• 

and  good  humor.  In  her  oHrn  heart  she  did  no',  quite 
know  which  of  her  two  lovers  she  liked  best.  In  her 
merriest  moods  she  fancied  Sam,  who  was  always  "  on  for 
fun,"  as  he  said  ;  who  brought  none  of  his  business  worries 
to  dinner — a  contrast  to  Philip,  who  when  he  had  difficuliies 
with  hiis  painting  managed  to  cast  the  reflection  of  them 
on  the  party. 

Once  in  a  way,  when  Dolly  had  a  headache  or  had  been 
disappointed  in  the  fitting  of  a  dress,  or  when  her  sister 
had  not  got  the  box  at  the  opera  which  Walter  had 
promised  for  a  Patti  night,  she  preferred  the  society  of 
Phil,  who  was  always  more  or  less  ready  to  be  doleful ; 
bur  she  liked  him  best  when  she  met  him  out  at  a  "  swag- 
ger literary  party,"  to  quote  Sam  again,  and  the  conversation 
turned  upon  a  big  subject,  political  or  artistic,  and  Philip 
Forsyth  came  out  with  some  of  his  strong  and  well-ex- 
pressed opinions,  and  the  table  became  silent  to  listen,  and 
she  heard  men  say  he  was  a  very  clever  fellow,  and 
how  eloquent  he  was,  and  how  sincere,  and  how  refreshing 
it  was  to  hear  a  young  man  talk  well  and  not  be  afraid  to 
be  honest  and  even  sentimental. 

But  this  was  no  doubt  a  matter  of  pride  on  Dolly's 
])art,  and  on  these  occasions  her  sister  would  take  the 
opportunity,  just  in  a  delicate  way,  to  let  it  be  known  to 
the  biggest  gossip  in  the  room  that  Mr,  Forsyth  was  in 
love  with  Dolly,  and  Dolly  would  sing  like  an  angel  the 
moment  she  was  asked,  and  the  gossip  in  question  would 
make  an  opportunity  to  remark  to  his  friends  what  a  lucky 
fellow  Forsyth  was,  and  so  on.  Both  Phil  and  Dolly 
would  be  pleased  with  all  this,  and  so  that  possible  engage- 
ment was  fostered  up  to  the  days  of  the  proposed  Venetian 
trip,  the  making  of  which  was  to  settle  the  one  great 
question  of  two  households,  the  Milbankes'  and  Forsyths' ; 
for  Lady  Forsyth  had  come  tj  the  conclusion  that  a 
cheerful  wife  like  Dolly,  with  an  equally  cheerful  fortune, 


m6  by  ordeh  of  the  czar. 

would  be  of  all  things  the  best  for  Phil,  whom  she  loved 
as  ardently  as  her  somewhat  frivolous  and  too  impulsive 
nature  would  permit.  She  loved  him  intensely,  while  the 
fit  was  on,  just  as  she  loved  her  friends  while  they  were 
there,  wfth  this  additional  weight  in  Philip's  favor,  that  he 
was  her  son,  that  she  was  proud  of  him,  and  that  all  of 
her  impassioned  affection  that  was  not  absorbed  in  politics, 
society,  and  in  those  memories  of  the  past  about  which 
she  wrote  so  much  in  the  magazines,  was  absorbed  in 
her  darling — the  apple  of  her  eye,  the  joy  of  her  widow- 
hood, "the  genius  of  a  line  of  brilliant  men  and  women," 
to  borrow  her  own  words,  as  we  have  borrowed  some  of 
Sam  Swynford's  vocabulary. 

**  The  fact  is,"  said  Walter,  as  he  handed  his  choicest 
brand  of  cigars  to  Swynford  and  Forsyth,  and  he  was  ad- 
dressing the  former,  "  Philip  is  going  with  us  to  Venice 
I  believe." 

"  Lucky  dog,"  said  Sam,  '*  I  wish  I  could." 

Walter  didn't  dream  of  saying,  "nobody  asked  you,  my 
boy,"  but  in  a  sidewink  at  Phil  he  allowed  the  artist  to 
understand  that  such  was  the  case,  and  that  for  his  own 
part,  even  setting  aside  the  question  of  Dolly,  he  would 
prefer  the  cultured  society  of  Phil  to  the  more  vulgar  if 
more  genial  companionship  of  Sam. 

"  Too  busy  making  money  just  now,"  said  Sam,  "  to  get 
away  even  for  a  day,"  He  said  this  as  cheerily  as  if  he 
had  not  absolutely  lost  half  the  ten  thousand  we  have 
already  heard  about. 

A  true  speculator,  Sam,  no  whining,  no  despondency 
over  losses,  just  the  same  keen  firm  grip  of  things  whether 
he  lost  or  won,  just  the  same  looking  forward  to  the  big 
fortune  he  meant  to  win,  with  the  exception  that  losses 
were  a  sort  of  tonic  to  him. 

''The  city  is  very  lively  just  now?  "  said  Walter  inter- 
relatively,  addressing  Sara. 


BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  137 

"  Yes,  and  will  be  livelier  yet,"  said  Sam. 

♦'  A  tremendous  company  boom  on — the  Americans  call 
everything  a  boom.  Everybody  with  a  fine  flourishing 
business  making  thousands  a  month  wants  to  share  their 
profits  with  the  public,''  said  Walter. 

"  Quite  so,"  said  Sam.  "  Traders,  manufacturers,  brew- 
ers, miners,  have  suddenly  become  philanthropists." 

"  No  pther  desire  than  to  endow  the  general  public  with 
twenty-five  per  cent,  for  capital  for  which  a  niggardly 
Government  will  only  give  two  and  a  half." 

"  Punch  couldn't  put  the  situation  better,"  said  Swynford, 
laughing,  "  unless,  perhaps,  it  added  that  the  Peerage,  the 
Army  and  Navy,  and  the  House  of  Commons  had  joined 
in  the  benevolent  scheme  as  directors,  with  a  unanimity 
of  belief  in  joint  stock  enterprises  that  made  guinea-pigging 
a  positive  virtue." 

Philip  drank  his  wine,  stretched  his  legs,  and  looked 
into  the  fire,  feeling  himself  entirely  out  of  the  conversa- 
tion. 

"  You  don't  speculate,  Forsyth  ?  "  said  Walter,  turning 
to  Philip. 

"  I  do  indeed,  very  much,"  replied  Philip. 

"  Do  you,  though  ?  "  said  Sam. 

"  Not  in  the  city,"  the  artist  replied ;  "  but  in  many  ways 
and  about  many  things." 

"  Ah,  yes,"  said  Walter ;  "  but  you  have  not  to  pay  for 
your  fancies."   ' 

"  It  don't  matter,  for  example,"  remarked  Sam,  "  whether 
your  futures  come  off  or  not ;  but  in  the  city,  whether  you 
bull  or  bear  futures,  the  results  are  matters  of  the  highest 
banking  importance,  eh,  Walter  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Walter,  examining  his  cigar  as  if  he  loved 
it.  Walter  was  a  luxurious  smoker ;  he  literally  fondled 
his  cigars. 

"  It  is  a  good  thing  we  are  not  all  in  the  same  line  of 


ta«  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

Dusiness,"  remarked  Philip.  "  But  I  am  not  so  sure  that 
speculations  which  do  not  involve  the  passing  of  money 
are  not  perhaps  in  some  respects  nearly  as  important  as 
dealings  in  stocks." 

"  More  so,"  said  Sam.  "  It's  a  vulgar  business,  dealing 
in  stocks,  but  it  has  its  fun,  and  if  you  are  lucky  it  enables 
a  fellow  to  help  the  other  chaps  who  speculate  about  art, 
and  the  future,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  We  are  rare 
hands  in  the  city  at  buying  pictures  and  books,  and  doing 
the  right  thing  by  art  and  intellect,  don't  you  know? 
There  ain't  an  atom  of  pride  in  the  city,  and  we  are  always 
deuced  glad  for  one  of  you  intellectual  swells  to  come  up 
and  see  us." 

"  Yes,  that's  true,"  said  Walter.  "  They  even  treat  me 
well ;  but  I  confess  I  generally  drop  in  upon  city  friends 
at  lunch  time — and  don't  they  lunch  !  And  what  snug 
taverns  !  Busy  clubs  !  And  there  are  gangs  now — North 
gangs,  Rothschild  gangs,  Nitrate  gangs,  Soutli-African 
mining  gangs ;  seems  to  me  men  operate  in  syndicates 
now,  is  it  not  so,  Swynford  ?  " 

Walter  was  warming  again  to  his  city  subject,  and  Swyn- 
ford beamed  on  him  gratefully. 

"  Yes,  don't  know  that  they  might  almost  be  called  con- 
spiracies. I  can  tell  you,  a  fellow  who  has  to  fight  for  his 
own  hand  as  I  do  is  lucky  if  he  comes  out  with  his  hair  on. 
But  the  public  is  so  confiding.  The  riggipg  of  companies' 
shares,  before  and  after  allotment,  would  give  thimble- 
rigging odds,  and  win  easy." 

"  You  don't  seem  to  approve  of  the  city,  Mr.  Swynford," 
said  Philip. 

"  Oh,  yes  I  do,  bless  you  I  it's  a  game.  I  don't  know 
that  it  is  much  worse  than  the  law,  with  all  respect  to  our 
host ;  it  is  honester  than  politics,  and  you  can  get  a  deuce 
of  a  lot  of  fun  for  your  money." 

"  iK  be^ts  th^  law  there/'  Walter  rejoined,  fondling  his 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  II9 

cigar.  "  But  Art  I  fancy  has  its  mirthful  side,  eh,  For- 
syth ?  well  let  us  say  its  rosy  side,  if  mirthful  is  too  flip- 
pant." 

"  Art  is  a  cap  and  bells  under  a  cassock,"  said  Phil, 
addressing  himself  to  the  fire.  ^ 

"  And  the  city's  a  pleasant  fellow,  with  a  flower  in  his 
buttonhole  and  a  swindling  prospectus  in  his  pocket,"  said 
Swynford  with  a  hearty  laugh. 

"Swynford  wouldn't  like  to  hear  anyone  else  attack 
the  old  lady  of  Threadneedle  Street  in  that  fashion,"  said 
Walter,  addressing  Philip ;  **  but  let  us  drop  that  vene- 
rable nonentity — she  must  be  deaf  with  the  recent  financial 
booms — Venice  is  more  in  our  way,  is  it  not,  Forsyth  ?  " 

"  I  daresay  Mr.  Swynford  gets  quite  as  much  pleasure 
out  of  the  city  as  we  do  this  side  Temple  Bar,  and  I  am 
quite  sure  he  would  find  as  much  real  enjoyment  in  Venice 
as  we  shall.  Don't  think,  my  dear  Mr.  Swynford,  that  I 
imagine  my  profession  is  a  more  noble  one  than  yours. 
On  reflection,  and  notwithstanding  what  I  said  a  little 
while  since,  I  am  inclined  to  think  trade,  business,  finance, 
have  the  best  of  it.  I  sometimes  wonder  if  painting  and 
acting  and  writing  novels  and  plays,  and  indeed  if  all  the 
other  fields  of  art  are  not  the  mere  play  grounds  of  men 
who  think  they  are  tilling  a  splendid  soil,  and  after  all  do 
not  succeed  in  providing  mankind  with  either  food  or 
raiment ;  they  are  not  producers  who  keep  the  world 
going,  they  grow  no  corn,  dig  up  no  coal,  make  no  iron, 
weave  no  cloth ;  they  are  after  all  nothing  but " 

"  Producers  of  the  salt  of  life,"  said  Walter.*.  "  It  is  the 
aftists  and  craftsmen  who  make  life  worth  living.  What 
is  the  moneyed  man's  highest  ambition  ?  To  surround 
himself  first  with  their  work  and  then  with  the  artists 
themselves ;  which  brings  us  back  to  the  Venetian  question. 
Those  old  fellows  of  the  great  Republic  :  they  knew  how 
to  cpmbin^  trade  with  art,  how  to  glorify  money,  how  to 

9 


I30  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

make  it  and  how  to  spend  it.  Is  it  settled,  Forsyth,  that 
you  are  to  be  one  of  our  little  party  ?  We  go  next  month. 
Our  plan  at  present  is  not  to  stop  until  we  get  to  Milan ; 
then  on  to  Verona ;  next  to  Venice ;  stay  there  six  or 
eight  weeks,  and  after  a  run  through  the  Lakes,  return  via 
Switzerland  and  Paris.  Is  it  true  that  you  have  taken  a 
studio  in  Venice  ?  " 

"  I  have  had  one  offered  to  me.  I  should  like  to  go  i 
indeed,  it  is  one  of  the  dreams  of  my  Hfe  that  I  would  like 
to  realize." 

"You  have  a  good  many  dreams,  you  fellows  who 
paint,"  replied  Swynford. 

"  Yes,"  said  Phil,  his  mind  running  on  the  face  in  his 
sketch,  "any  fellow  might  be  excused  for  dreaming  over 
such  cigars  as  Milbanke's,  not  to  mention  his  claret.  What 
a  capital  dinner  you  have  given  us.  But  your  cook  is  a 
treasure." 

Philip  felt  he  must  make  an  effort  to  gei  away  from  his 
picture.  His  work  always  took  strong  hold  of  his  imagin- 
ation, but  "  Tragedy  "  seemed  to  be  taking  full  and  entire 
possession  of  him ;  he  began  to  wish  he  had  never  seen 
the  woman  at  the  opera.  "  Shall  we  join  the  ladies,  Mil- 
banke?" 

"  By  all  means.  Shall  I  tell  them  you  will  join  us  in  our 
Italian  holiday?" 

"  Yes,  I  tliink  so." 

"  Bull  or  bear  in  that  stock  ?  "  said  Sam  Swynford  to 
himself  as  the  three  left  the  room.  "  I  suppose  he  will  take 
tlie  pool ;  just  my  luck  !  " 

Mr.  Swynford  was  a  stock-broker  and  he  looked  it. 
There  was  a  certain  city  go  and  swagger  in  his  manner, 
which  gave  confidence  to  his  customers  and  made  Sam 
welcome  both  in  artistic  society  and  among  his  city  friends. 
He  was  breezy  and  alive  with  animal  spirits,  dressed  well, 
wor"t  a  flower  in  his  button-hole  summer  and  winter^  was 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  131 

always  groomed  "  up  to  the  nines,"  as  some  of  the  most 
slangy  of  his  acquaintances  described  the  polish  of  his 
boots,  his  waxed  moustache,  his  close-cropped  hair,  and 
his  well-brushed  coats.  He  was  what  would  be  termed  a 
young  man  with  a  fair  complexion,  and  accordingly  on  that 
account  Mrs.  Milbanke  was  inclined  to  think  that  Philip 
Forsyth  had  the  best  chance  in  the  competition  for  Dolly, 
because  in  love,  like  does  not  like  like,  but  its  opposite. 
Sam  was  of  medium  height,  inclined  to  be  what  is  called 
stout,  was  broad  of  shoulder,  his  hands  of  a  generous  type, 
and  he  had  a  fat  cheery  laugh.  He  wore  tight  coats,  a 
showy  watch  chain,  and  carried  a  big  silver-mounted 
stick. 

On  the  present  occasion  his  dress  clothes  were  in  the 
height  of  fashion — silk  facings,  silk  collar  and  white  vest, 
with  a  single  small  gem  in  the  way  of  a  stud  for  his  imma- 
culate shirt  front.  His  somewhat  florid  cheeks  shone  with 
health,  his  grey  eyes  sparkled  with  his  host's  wine.  He 
had  no  peculiarities  of  manner,  but  was  a  type  of  a  fairly 
bred  young  Englishman,  in  a  big  way  of  business,  perfectly 
at  home  with  himself  except  when  he  was  near  Dolly  Nor- 
cott,  with  whom  he  was  over  head  and  ears  in  love ;  and 
without,  as  he  feared,  the  remotest  chance  of  ever  winning 
even  her  esteem,  he  yet  thought  of  the  possibility  of  mak- 
ing a  heap  of  money  for  her,  whenever  he  entered  upon  a 
more  than  ordinary  large  hazard  either  as  a  bull  or  a  bear. 
He  had  never  dared  to  propose  to  Dolly,  because  she  had 
more  than  once  given  him  to  understand  that  any  familiar- 
ity of  that  kind  would  be  fatal  to  their  friendship ;  that  she 
was  not  for  him  in  any  other  capacity  than  one  of  friend- 
ship ;  that  as  a  friend  she  liked  him  better  than  any  other 
of  her  brother-in-law's  guests,  and  she  hoped  he  would  not 
compel  her  to  ask  Walter  not  to  invite  him  any  more  to 
Westbury  Lodge.  Although  this  had  been  said  more  or 
less  jestingly,  Sam  knew  that  for  the  time  being  Dolly  meant 


I3S  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

it ;  but  he  had  a  lurking  hope  that  in  the  course  of  the 
chapter  of  accidents  he  might  have  a  chance.  Possibly 
his  city  experiences  encouraged  him  to  think  of  his  pros- 
pects in  this  way,  because  he  had  so  often  seen  the  unex- 
pected happen  on  the  Stock  Exchange,  and  he  did  not  see 
why  the  doctrine  of  chances  which  affected  his  operations 
there  should  not  also  influence  his  speculations  in  regard 
to  Dolly,  the  one  line  of  matrimonial  stock  which  he  desired 
to  inscribe  in  his  book  of  options.  Somehow,  however,  on 
this  night  of  his  latest  little  dinner  at  Westbury  Lodge  he 
had  misgivings  as  to  his  prospects  in  that  quarter ;  but  he 
made  it  a  rule  to  appear  cheerful  and  happy  under  all  cir- 
cumstances, so  he  sailed  into  the  drawing-room  after  Philip 
and  Walter,  with  the  smile  of  apparent  confidence  aQd 
unconcern. 

There  was  just  enough  of  the  decorative  craze  of  the  day 
in  the  arrangement  of  the  Milbanke  drawing-room  to  give 
it  an  air  of  modern  prettiness,  but  not  so  much  as  to 
destroy  the  sense  of  comfort,  which  is  often  sacrificed  to 
artistic  show.      It  was  neither  a  harmony  in  yellow  nor  a 
symphony  in  pink ;  it  was  not  an  inspiration  from  Japan, 
nor  a  copy  of  a  Chippendale  idea  adapted  to  parquette 
flooring  and  Queen  Anne  windows  ;  there  had  been  no 
paragraphs  in  the  Society  papers  about  it ;  probably  neither 
Mr.  Whistler  nor  Mr.  Menpes  had  ever  seen  it,  and  if  they 
had  they  would  most  likely  have  condemned  it.     Neverthe- 
less you  felt  that  the  decorator  had  worked  at  it  with  artistic 
feeling,  and  that  the  hostess  had  supplemented  his  labors 
with  ideas  beyond  the  reach  of  art.     There  was  a  copper 
kettle  singing  on  an  old  hob-grate,  a  cluster  of  candelabra  on 
the  mantel,  a  sconce  or  two  of  gas  on  the  walls,  a  dozen  or 
so  fine  examples  of  Cox,  Haleswelle,  Herkomer  and  Carot 
on  the  walls,  a  cabinet  of  Venetian  glass,  a  many-legged 
table  with  a  crown  Derby  coffee  service  upon  it,  and  a 
dainty  liquor  case  j  the  floor  was  covered  with  Persian 


£y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  13} 

fugs,  there  was  drawn  up  before  the  fire  a  big  much- 
cushioned  seat ;  and  the  general  tone  of  the  room  was 
yellow,  but  whether  it  was  the  yellow  of  warm  light  or  the 
yellow  of  curtains  and  walls  one  did  not  think  of  inquiring, 
though  one  might  wonder  about  all  this  afterwards,  reflect- 
ing on  the  pretty,  comfortable,  unusual  kind  of  room  it 
was. 

Mrs.  Milbanke  was  seated  at  a  pretty  tea  table,  lighted 
with  a  pretty  copper  lamp.  Dolly  was  half  buried  in  an 
easy  chair  with  the  last  new  book  in  her  lap.  Swynford 
hoped  she  was  enjoying  her  literatiire.  She  looked  up  with 
a  mischievous  smile  and  said  she  was,  though  she  must 
confess  it  was  full  of  sadness,  not  to  say  horrors.  Step- 
niak's  **  Russia  under  the  Czars,"  she  continued,  this  time 
turning  her  blue  eyes  towards  Philip,  who,  of  course,  be- 
came immediately  interested.  Her  sister  had  suggested 
the  book  as  a  desirable  one  to  have  lying  about  since  they 
had  seen  the  sketch  on  Philip's  easel,  and  they  had  driven 
down  to  Mudie's  for  it  before  going  home  after  they  had 
left  the  studio  that  very  afternoon.  It  had  not  taken  Dolly 
half  an  hour,  the  half  hour  after  dinner,  to  get  at  the  tone 
of  the  work,  and  to  know  just  enough  to  let  Philip  see  that 
she  was  interested  in  the  si^tjects  which  interested  him. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  sitting  down  by  her  side,  "  it  is  a 
painful  subject,  though  one  might  be  forgiven  for  expecting 
to  find  something  noble  in  pages  inscribed  with  such  a 
title — but  there  is  in  the  record  of  its  martydoms." 

There  was  something  fateful  in  Philip's  appearance  and 
manner  j  he  was  pale,  his  black  hair  was  dishevelled,  it 
fell  in  a  great  shock  over  his  forehead,  his  long  hands  were 
particularly  white,  and  there  was  a  poetic  melancholy  in 
the  expression  of  his  sallow  face  that  suggested  much 
thought  and  work.  All  this  made  him  interesting  in  Dolly's 
estimation,  and  she  was  also  taken  by  the  air  of  distinction 
which  seemed  to  belong  to  those  student-like  character- 


1)4  ^^  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

istics  which  were  so  opposite  to  the  happy  professional  air 
of  her  brother-in-law,  and  to  the  smug  city  cheerfuhiess  of 
Samuel  Swynford,  of  Lombard-street. 

"  I  have  always  been  deeply  concerned  in  regard  to  the 
fate  of  political  prisoners  in  Russia,"  continued  Philip, 
"  and  just  now  I  am  thinking  of  little  else.  I  suppose  there 
is  a  touch  of  selfishness  in  this  increased  devotion,  because 
I  am  putting  my  feelings  and  my  imagination  into  commis- 
sion as  it  were ;  I  hope  they  will  assist  me  to  carry  off  the 
Gold  Medal." 

"  Oh,  that  is  the  secret  of  the  sketch  we  saw  this  after- 
noon ?  "  said  Mrs.  Milbanke.  "  You  forgot  to  tell  us ;  or 
perhaps  it  is  a  secret" 

"  Forsyth  thought  he  would  not  spoil  a  good  subject  for 
conversation  this  evening,"  chimed  in  the  host.  "Yes, 
my  dear,  I  will  have  a  cup  of  tea  ;  don't  approve  of  tea  as 
a  rule,  *  but  to-night  we'll  merry  be,'  as  the  song  says,  eh, 
Swynford  ?  " 

Walter  did  not  quite  know  what  he  was  saying  ;  not  that 
he  had  had  too  much  wine,  but  his  wife  had  been  making 
signs  at  him,  and  he  tried  to  hide  his  non-understanding 
of  them  undei  a  ripple  of  talk.  "  A  good  old  so:igi" 
he  went  on;  "I  remember  my  singing  it  when  I  was 
a  boy  at  a  birthday — yes,  my  dear,  Mr.  Swynford  will  take 
a  cup  of  tea,  and  by  the  way,  Swynford,  you  are  a  judge  of 
water  colors.  I  would  like  to  show  you  a  little  portfolio  I 
bought  last  week — a  collection  of  landscapes  and  figures 
— two  little  Turners,  half  a  dozen  David  Cox's,  a  Calcott, 
and  a  couple  of  sketches  by  Landseer ;  here  it  is,  my 
boy." 

And  Walter,  having  suddenly  caught  the  meaning  of  his 
wife's  nod,  had  led  Sam  to  the  furthest  end  of  the  room 
away  from  Philip  and  Dolly,  and  was  soon  deep  in  the 
mysteries  of  the  portfolio  in  question,  getting  Sam's  ideas 
of  its  value,  not  only  artistically  but  financially,  together 


BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  I35 

with  his  views  of  the  present  inflated  state  of  the  money 
market  and  other  matters  of  current  interest. 

Meanwhile  Philip  responded  to  Dolly's  sympathetic 
inquiries  about  prison  life  in  Russia,  the  high-handed 
character  of  what  was  termed  administrative  arrest,  and 
what  he  intended  to  convey  in  that  sketch,  in  which  the 
woman's  face  was  so  remarkable  as  to  have  set  Jenny  talk- 
ing of  nothing  else  ever  since  they  had  seen  it.  Philip  rode 
his  hobby  gracefully,  with  eloquence  and  with  knowledge, 
and  paused  more  than  once  to  note  how  beautiful  Dolly 
was,  and  what  a  happy  contrast  were  her  red  lips,  her  bright 
genial  eyes  and  warm  healthful  flesh,  compared  with  the 
woman  of  the  opera,  "  the  ghost  of  Madame  Lapukin,"  as 
Dick  Chetwynd  had  styled  her. 

Presently  Jenny  had  drawn  her  chair  near  the  two  young 
people,  to  hear  Philip's  story  of  this  woman  at  the  opera, 
and  his  desire  to  have  her  as  a  model  for  the  face  in  his 
medal  picture  ;  and  by  and  by  she  led  the  conversation  up 
to  their  trip  to  Italy  and  the  poetic  loveliness  of  Venice, 
where  she  assured  him  he  would  find  a  model  in  every 
woman  of  the  people  whom  he  met.  She  had  only  been 
to  Venice  once,  and  then  only  for  a  week,  and  she  thought 
she  had  seen  more  beautiful  women  during  those  seven 
days  than  ever  she  had  seen  in  her  life  before. 

Philip  in  reply  could  not  resist  the  suggestion  that  it  was 
not  necessary  to  go  to  Venice  to  look  for  beauty ;  and  if 
he  accompanied  them  he  should  ask  the  favor  of  putting 
Dolly  into  a  Venetian  picture,  for  so  far  as  he  was  any 
judge  of  the  peculiarities  of  the  Venetian  face  he  thought 
Dolly  herself  possessed  that  curl  of  the  lip  and  that  sun- 
shine in  the  hair  which  was  supposed  to  be  thoroughly 
Venetian. 

Without  seeming  to  say  it,  the  clever  little  matchmaker 
let  Philip  also  understand  that  Dolly  was  also  blessed  with 
a  certain  golden  sunshine  in  the  Three  per  cents.,  which 


1^6  BV  ORDEk  OF  THE  CZAR. 

his  mother,  Lady  Forsyth,  thought  an  important  item  in 
the  charms  of  marriageable  young  ladies. 

It  is  difficult  to  fathom  the  thoughts  of  man,  and  to  say 
whether  the  best  of  God's  creatures  is  mercenary  or  not ; 
whether  the  most  virtuous  may  not  be  influenced  now  and 
then  by  the  worst  passions.  So  far  as  the  narrator  of  this 
history  is  concerned,  he  is  inclined  to  think  Philip  did  not 
note  the  worldly  hint  of  Mrs.  Milbanke,  or,  if  he  did,  that 
it  had  no  influence  with  him,  though  the  hostess  more  than 
once  made  some  passing  reference  to  the  responsibilities 
of  marriage  being  so  greatly  lessened  if  there  was  money 
on  both  sides ;  or  if  there  was  money  on  one  side  and 
genius  on  the  other,  'luite  in  a  more  or  less  inconsequential 
way  getting  in  a  reierence  to  an  artist  whom  Ihey  both 
knew  who  was  very  clever  but  still  could  not  sell  his  pic- 
tures, and  what  an  important  thing  it  was  in  art  for  a  man 
to  be  more  or  less  independent  of  dealers,  so  that  he  could 
afford  to  follow  the  bent  of  his  genius  or  his  inclination, 
and  do  the  work  he  liked  best ;  and  so  on — an  eloquent 
rush  of  worldly  wisdom,  most  useful  in  regard  to  young 
people,  about  to  contract  a  marriage,  and  especially  to  a 
couple  of  young  people,  the  bride  pretty,  with  money  and 
social  position,  and  the  bridegroom  an  artist,  also  with 
social  position,  a  little  money,  perhaps,  and  no  end  of 
genius  and  ability,  if  he  could  only  paint  what  he  wished 
and  be  independent  of  the  Academy  and  of  dealers  ;  and 
somehow  Philip  found  himself,  before  he  quite  knew  where 
he  was,  discussing  these  delicate  matters,  as  if  he  or  Dolly, 
or  both,  were  personally  concerned  in  them. 

And  once,  Dolly's  hand  being  near  Philip's,  he  laid  his 
upon  hers,  and  she,  not  withdrawing  it,  he  pressed  the  fair 
hand,  and  was  very  sensible  of  its  soft  pliability.  The 
gentle  pressure  that  responded  to  his,  when  he  ventured  a 
little  further  and  look  Dolly's  hand  fairly  within  his  own, 
set  his  heart  beating,  and  he  forgot  everything  except  Dolly 


IfV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAJf.  t^ 

and  his  mother's  praises  of  her.  It  came  into  his  mind 
that  it  would  please  his  mother  very  much  if  he  married 
Dolly)  and  that  she  was  very  beautiful,  had  golden  hair,  A 
sweet  voice,  and  cheerful  manners,  and  that  sometime! 
Fate  met  one  half  way,  as  it  were,  and  sometimes  clapped 
one  on  the  shoulder  unawares,  and  that  after  all  it  would 
be  a  pleasant  Fate  to  be  entitled  to  take  Dolly  to  one'i 
arms,  and  have  her  for  a  lifelong  companion. 

While  Walter  Milbanke  was  fooling  Samuel  Swynford,  it 
was  as  good  as  settled  that  his  hopes  were  to  be  utterly 
crushed.  Why,  therefore,  prolong  the  description  of  this 
evening  one  moment  more  than  is  necessary  to  aquaint 
the  reader  with  the  main  incident  of  the  night  ?  Swynford 
felt  uncomfortable,  and  said  he  must  go  earlier  than  he  had 
intended ;  he  spoke  of  some  important  business  he  had  in 
the  city  the  next  morning  at  ten,  and  took  a  cheerful  leave 
of  Westbury  Lodge  two  hours  before  Philip ;  and  long 
before  that  favored  young  gentleman  said  •'  Good-night," 
he  had  been  alone  with  Dolly  for  three  parts  of  that  time, 
both  Walter  and  his  wife  having  business  in  another  corner 
of  their  pretty  house  ;  Mrs.  Milbanke  to  see  the  children 
put  to  bed  (though  they  had  been  in  bed  for  hours),  and 
Walter  to  answer  a  couple  of  letters  which'had  come  in  by 
the  last  post. 

It  was  a  blissful  time  for  Philip  while  it  lasted ;  a  dream 
of  a  new  and  unexpected  kind  of  happiness  ;  a  dream  in 
which  hands  clasped  hands,  and  lips  touched  lips  ;  a  dream 
in  which  a  soft,  sweet,  blushing  girl  confessed  that  she 
loved  him ;  a  dream  in  which  he  believed  he  loved  her 
better  than  anything  or  anybody  in  all  the  v/orld. 

And  so  it  was  settled  that  a  fortnight  later  Philip  For- 
syth should  accompany  the  Milbankes  on  a  tour  through 
France,  Italy  an^  Switzerland,  with  a  long  vacation  in 
Venice,  and  that  during  their  wanderings  they  should  settle 
the  month  in  which  Philip  should  make  Dolly  his  wife, 
"  Man  proposes." 


Mifk  By  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"what  fates  impose,  that  men  must  needs  abide." 

They  awoke  to  a  new  life  the  next  day,  several  persons 
in  this  history.  The  old  order  of  things  had  changed  in 
a  night.  Dolly  had  a  new  position  in  the  eyes  of  herself, 
her  relations  and  friends ;  she  was  "  engaged."  Mrs. 
Milbanke  entered  upon  a  fresh  phase  of  existence ;  her 
sister  had  "  accepted  "  Mr.  Philip  Forsyth ;  Lady  Forsylh 
would  be  Dolly's  mother-in-lav/.  Mr.  Samuel  Swynford 
might  no  longer  feel  that  in  his  city  operations  he  was 
working  for  a  future  in  which  Dolly  Norcott  would  have 
the  leading  part.  Dick  Chetwynd  believed  that  the  career 
of  his  friend  Philip  Forsyth  had  now  become  secure. 
Hitherto  his  prospects  had  needed  the  ballast  of  respon- 
sible duties.  Married  to  Dolly,  his  ambition  would,  be 
fostered  by  an  absence  of  what  the  young  fellow  had  con- 
sidered the  absolute  necessity  of  earning  his  own  living  : 
for  although  Lady  Forsyth  had  a  fair  income,  she  spent 
every  penny  of  it  and  did  not  keep  out  of  debt,  and  the 
possibility  of  her  death  and  his  inheritance  of  the  property 
left  by  his  father  did  not  for  a  moment  enter  into  Philip's 
calculations. 

Lady  Forsyth  felt  something  like  a  sense  of  triumph  in 
the  engagement  of  Philip  and  Dorothy,  for  many  reasons  ; 
it  secured  her  son's  independence,  it  relieved  her  of  a  kind 
of  responsibility  as  to  his  future,  she  liked  Dolly,  thought 
the  Milbankes  pleasant  successful  people,  and  the  ex- 
citement of  the  wedding  and  getting  ready  for  it  would  be 
an  agreeable  break  in  her  life,  which,  lively  as  it  was  in  a 
general  way,  the  tune  of  it  was  all  on  one  string. 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  139 

Philip  went  to  his  studio  on  that  memorable  next  day, 
unhitched  his  bell,  wrote  "  Out "  on  his  wicket,  locked  his 
door,  put  the  key  in  his  pocket,  and  entered  upon  a  reflec- 
tive solitude. 

The  Regent's  Park  studios  were  a  pretty,  red-brick  cluster 
of  buildings  north  of  Primrose  Hill,  designed  and  erected 
for  art  work,  and  for  personal  comfort,  by  an  enterprising 
architect  who  recognized  the  progressive  movement  of  the 
times,  and  in  the  right  spirit  .provided  a  calm  retreat  for 
workers  who  could  afford  to  pay  a  fair  rent  for  Iheir 
accommodation.  The  studios  had  a  general  portal,  in 
which  resided  the  porter  and  his  wife,  who  kept  a  small 
staff  of  servants  for  the  purpose  of  attending  to  the  domes- 
tic and  culinary  requirements  of  the  tenants.  Passing 
through  this  general  portal  which  had  its  gates  and  hours 
on  the  principle  of  an  old-fashioned  college  or  inn,  you 
came  into  a  courtyard,  around  which  the  studios  were 
ranged,  each  with  its  individual  retiring  rooms  and  offices. 
Some  of  the  men  lived  there  altogether ;  one  occupant, 
afiv.r  some  protests  and  difficulties  with  the  landlord,  had 
been  permitted  to  bring  home  his  wife  theic  ',  another 
house  was  occupied  by  a  lady  artist,  and  thus  the  human- 
izing influence  of  woman  had  entered  through  the  general 
portal,  and  given  a  pleasant  tone  to  the  place.  From  the 
moment  that  Hymen  had  come  in  there,  aesthetic  blinds, 
red-raddled  flower  pots,  outside  mats,  birds  in  cages,  and 
gay  flower-beds  had  appeared ;  while  the  harmless,  neces- 
sary cat  had  had  a  ribbon  tied  round  its  neck,  and  the 
colony  had  made  itself  look  just  as  gay  and  merry  as  it 
undoubtedly  was.  There  had  been  little  luncheons  and 
an  occasional  reception  prior  to  the  entrance  of  Hymen 
with  his  torch ;  but  they  w  jre  as  nothing  compared  with 
the  gatherings  which  had  made  the  place  musical  and  floral 
in  these  latter  days,  when  the  Regent's  Park  studios  have 
become  famous  nut  only  for  the  work  they  turn  out,  but 


t|6  BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR: 

for  their  social  gaieties.  Nobody  would  ever  be  able  to 
Work  and  play  as  well  in  the  same  place,  it  was  feared, 
when  Hymen  was  permitted  to  light  his  torch  within  the 
sacred  precincts  j  but  "  Out "  made  any  studio  safe  from 
interruption.  "  Out,"  communicated  to  the  Porter's  Lodge, 
was  as  powerful  a  talisman  of  protection  from  callers  as 
if  the  painter  who  had  exhibited  the  legend  on  his  wicket 
had  been  leagues  away ;  and  so  the  opportunity  for  serious 
work  was  secured.  It  was  a  tribute  to  the  earnestness 
and  industry  of  the  region,  during  the  weeks  immediately 
preceding  the  Spring  Exhibitions,  that,  as  a  rule,  the  entire 
colony  was  "  out "  from  ^arly  morn  till  dewy  eve ;  and 
Philip's  "Out  "was  therefore  not  singular  on  this  bright 
and  breezy  April  morning. 

There  was  a  cheerful  fire  in  his  stove.  The  sun  was 
streaming  in  at  his  western  window.  Having  promptly 
drawn  a  blind  down  against  the  radiant  light,  Philip  took 
off  his  black  morning  coat  and  waistcoat,  and  put  on  his 
brown  velvet  working  jacket,  removed  his  boots  in  favor 
of  a  pair  of  white  tennis  shoes,  and  took  up  a  position  of 
observation  with  his  back  to  the  stove,  which  was  a  hand- 
some terra  cotta  construction,  German  in  appearance,  but 
with  the  advantage  of  an  open  grate,  making  it  a  com- 
promise between  England  and  the  foreigner  so  much  as  to 
retain  the  national  prejudice  in  favor  of  an  open  fire, 
while  it  secured  the  German  and  Russian  practicability  of 
a  real  heating  stove. 

Philip  stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire  and  surveyed  the 
room ;  not  that  he  saw  anything  in  it,  but  he  surveyed  it 
all  the  same,  looked  round  it,  up  at  the  roof,  and  down  at 
the  floor,  the  couch  with  its  tiger  skin,  his  low  easy  chairs 
with  their  fluffy  cushions,  his  parquette  floor  with  its 
rugs,  his  screen  full  of  rough  sketches,  his  throne  for 
sitters,  his  two  great  easels,  his  cabinet  crowded  with 
papers  of  all  kinds — drawings,   old  -engravings  and  new 


BY  ORDER 'OF  THE  CZAR,  I41 

sketches — and  his  wardrobe  full  of  costumes,  the  sketch 
on  his  easel  covered  with  a  piece  of  silk,  the  door  opening 
into  one  of  his  retiring  rooms,  with  its  cartoons  in  the 
little  passage  way,  his  small  collection  of  plastic  ware 
scattered  here  and  there,  and  his  statuettes  of  a  Russian 
peasant,  and  a  baked  clay  model  of  a  Polish  patriot. 

All  these  things  he  looked  at  but  did  not  see  ;  his  mind 
was  occupied  with  other  images,  with  other  thoughts ;  it 
was  not  altogether  absent  from  the  studio,  but  it  was 
making  curious  and  strange  journeys  outside  the  porter's 
lodge,  and  busy  with  thoughts  that  went  out  far  away, 
and  with  strange  day-dreams. 

Did  he  love  the  girl  to  whom  last  night  he  had  engaged 
himself  in  a  lifelong  bond  ? 

Or  in  what  he  had  said  was  he  pledged  to  that  serious 
compact  of  marriage  ? 

If  Love  was  that  absorbing  passion  he  had  dreamed  of, 
was  he  in  love  with  Dolly? 

Was  not  his  last  night's  engagement  a  sudden  impulse, 
in  which  there  was  a  good  deal  of  passion  and  very  little 
love  ?  Was  Dolly  the  ideal  of  womanhood  he  had  dreamt 
of  as  an  artist,  and  read  of  in  the  poets  ?  Was  she  not 
rather  a  pretty,  clever,  little  woman  of  the  world,  her  heart 
in  the  studio  of  the  milliner  rather  than  in  the  studio  of 
the  painter? 

Did  she  really  care  for  Art  ? 

Was  beauty  without  the  refining  grace  of  culture  and 
sentiment  really  Beauty  ? 

Would  any  man  have  been  happy  with  the  most  perfect 
goddess  of  the  Grecian  sculptors  ? 

Did  Providence  for  that  matter  ever  combine  true 
physical  beauty  with  intellectual  grace  ? 

Had  not  Dolly  and  her  sister,  and  even  Walter,  seemed 
last  night  to  enter  into  a  charming  conspiracy  to  get  him 
to  jisk  Dolly  to  be  his  wife?     Had  not  Walter's  genial 


142  BY  ORDER  OF  THE   CZAR. 

wine,  the  sweet  incense  of  admiration,  the  soft,  cozy,  health* 
ful  charms  of  Dolly,  been  sensuous,  as  opposed  to  the 
spirituelle  temptations  which  should  guide  the  choice  of  a 
lover  who  looked  for  a  wife  superior  to  the  wiles  of  Society 
and  to  the  frivolous  attractions  of  dress  ? 

These  questions,  not  exactly  in  definite  shape,  but 
shadowy,  passed  before  him,  without  answers.  They 
seemed  to  have  the  accompaniment  of  some  strains  of 
music  from  Carmen,  and  his  thoughts  wandered  away  to 
the  Opera,  and  to  the  beautiful,  sad  face  in  the  curtains  of 
Lady  Marchmount's  box. 

He  listened,  and  could  hear  faintly  the  strains  of  a  street 
band,  which  was  playing  a  passage  from  the  veiy  scene 
which  had  for  him  been  interrupted  by  that  strangely 
fascinating  presence  which  he  had  endeavored  to  suggest 
in  his  medal  picture. 

His  eyes  wandered  to  the  easel,  and  as  they  did  so  the 
remnant  of  grey  silk  which  had  covered  his  sketch  gradu- 
ally slipped  down  upon  the  floor,  and  there  was  the  face 
looking  at  him  through  its  deep  red  halo,  and  its  accom- 
panying figures  of  misery  and  suffering.  There  was  nothing 
supernatural  in  this,  though  it  exercised  an  uncanny  kind 
of  influence  upon  Philip.  The  truth  is,  the  drapery  had 
been  gradually  slipping  away  for  hours,  influenced  by  the 
increasing  gravitation  of  the  heaviest  part  to  the  floor  and 
the  entrance  of  Philip,  the  shutting  of  the  door,  and  his 
moving  about,  so  that  it  fell  away  just  at  a  critical  moment 
in  Philip's  reflections,  and  his  imaginative  nature  found  in 
the  incident  a  shadow  of  a  protest  against  the  chief  event 
of  the  previous  night. 

If  Dolly's  face  only  gave  you  the  idea  that  there  was 
something  behind  it,  he  went  on  mentally  saying  to  himself, 
an  intellectuality  beyond  mere  worldliness,  how  much  more 
beautiful  it  would  be !  But  he  could  lead  her  in  the 
4ire^tion  of  the  studies  he  liked  ^  he  could  give  her  #Q 


BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  143 

ambition  higher  than  that  of  shining  in  Society  ;  he  could 
bring  her  sympathies  within  his  own  control.  Could  he? 
There  was  the  rub.  And  there,  still  before  him,  was  his 
idea  of  the  face  which  of  all  others  he  had  ever  seen  pos- 
sessed intellectual  fire,  poetic  sentiment,  but  had  withal  a 
something  fearful  in  its  great  eyes,  and  something  thril- 
lingly  mysterious  in  its  sudden  appearance  and  in  its  no 
less  startling  disappearance. 

He  walked  to  the  easel,  picked  up  the  silk  remnant,  and 
glanced  round  the  room  as  if  he  expected  to  see  some  one  ; 
then  mechanically  wrapping  up  the  piece  of  silk,  placed  it 
carefully  away  in  his  wardrobe,  took  up  his  palette,  wiped 
it,  and  commenced  to  squeeze  a  series  of  color  tubes 
upon  it. 

While  he  is  thus  engaged,  let  us  glance  at  him  critically. 
It  is  a  promising  youth,  not  quite  rugged  enough  perhaps 
for  the  making  of  a  man  of  action,  but  at  th-  same  time 
betokening  firmness,  good  health,  ambition,  checked,  how- 
ever, by  one  physiognomical  drawback,  a  somewhat  weak 
chin,  and  with  eyebrows  that  as  a  rule  rarely  accompany  a 
happy  disposition.  Lavater  has  some  notable  views  upon 
the  meeting  eyebrows  held  by  the  Arabs  to  be  so  beautiful, 
and  by  the  old  physiognomists  to  be  the  mark  of  craft,  but 
regarded  by  the  master  as  neither  beautiful  nor  betokening 
craft,  but  rather,  while  giving  the  face  a  somewhat  gloomy 
appearance,  denoting  trouble  of  mind  and  heart.  Similarly 
with  the  pointed  chin  ;  many  people  believe  it  to  be  the 
accompaniment  of  acuteness  and  craft,  but  Lavater  knew 
many  honorable  persons  with  such  chins,  and  he  noted 
that  their  craft  is  the  craft  of  the  best  dramatic  poetry. 

Philip  Forsyth  had  the  melancholy  eyebrows  and  the  flaw 
of  weakness  in  the  chin,  not  as  to  the  pointed  chin,  but  to 
the  want  of  angularity,  and  the  suggestion  of  retreat,  coupled 
with  a  something  negative  in  both  its  form  and  size  ;  but  for 
these  drawbacks  Philip's  face  was  the  face  of  an  artist,  and  a 


144  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

man  of  nobility  of  mind  and  ambition.  The  compact  fort- 
head,  the  thick  black  hair,  the  perfect  nose — suggestive  of 
the  keystone  to  the  Gothic  arch,  as  Lavater  regarded  it — the 
dark,  steadfast  eyes,  the  strong  hands  with  the  long  dexter- 
ous fingers,  the  well-proportioned  limbs,  moderate  breadth 
of  shoulder  with  narrow  hips  and  easy  graceful  movements, 
all  belonging  to  masculine  beauty,  and  to  a  nature  of  keen 
sensibilities.  Meeting  Philip  for  the  first  time,  you  would 
have  regarded  him  as  a  young  man  out  of  the  common  ; 
but  you  might  have  credited  him  with  nursing  an  ambi- 
tion he  could  not  realize,  or  with  a  melancholy  turn  of 
disposition — qualities  which  are  not  without  attraction  in 
the  young,  who  are  just  beginning  to  realize  the  respon- 
sibilities of  existence. 

There  was  perhaps  a  further  touch  of  weakness  in  Philip's 
individual  characteristics — namely,  in  his  gait  and  manner. 
He  did  not  walk  straight  and  direct  to  anything  :  there  was 
a  something  akin  to  feline  gracefulness  in  his  movements. 
He  approached  an  object  with  a  certain  swerve  of  motion, 
as  if  he,  more  or  less,  walked  in  curves,  as  graceful  actors 
do ;  and  this  also  was  characteristic  of  his  mode  of  thought. 
It  was  to  the  line  of  retreat  in  the  chin,  its  slight  under- 
size,  that  physiognomists  would  credit  this  peculiarity, 
combined  with  a  strong  imagination  not  under  the  full 
control  of  the  logical  or  executive  faculties. 

But  these  very  weaknesses  helped  in  many  respects  to 
add  to  the  attractiveness  of  Philip's  work  and  conversation. 
They  made,  for  instance,  Dick  Chetwynd  feel  perfectly 
safe  in  giving  hkn  advice,  and  added  to  Dick's  satisfaction 
with  the  young  fellow's  matrimonial  engagement  to  a  pretty, 
sensible  girl  not  likely  to  be  led  away  by  will-o'-the-wisps, 
and  with  sufficient  money  in  the  three  per. cents  to  give 
stability  to  his  social  and  domestic  position. 

Philip,  having  laid  his  palette  and  brushes  down  by  the 
.easel,  took  from  his  pocket  a  cigar  case,  selected  a  cigar, 


Sr  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  I45 

lighted  it,  dragged  a  chair  in  front  of  his  sketch,  sat  cross- 
legged  upon  it  and  looked  at  the  canvas  steadfastly, 
smoking  all  the  time,  and  occasionally  looking  upwards, 
watching  the  blue  wreaths  break  upon  the  cross  beam, 
from  which  swung  specimens  of  old  flint  guns,  spears, 
bows  and  arrows,  and  a  Roman  corslet. 

With  the  eye  of  imagination  he  saw  his  picture  grow  into 
what  it  might  be,  what  he  hoped  it  would  be,  not  only  a 
great  work  of  art,  but  an  everlasting  rebuke  to  Russian 
tyranny — not  simply  the  study  to  which  the  Academy  had 
awarded  the  Gold  Medal,  but  the  study  which  had  perhaps 
brought  the  awful  political  disabilities  of  the  Russians  home 
to  the  sufferers,  helping  the  champions  of  the  people  to 
break  the  chains  that  kept  Liberty  in  prison,  galled  its 
flesh,  and  wore  its  brain  to  madness. 

He  had  once  seen  of  band  a  political  prisoners  and 
criminals  start  on  their  weary  way  to  Siberia,  and  he  had 
never  forgotten  it,  nor  would,  though  he  was  not  more  than 
nine  years  old  at  the  time.  It  was  during  the  years  his 
mother  and  father  had  lived  in  Moscow.  Wherever  they 
are  condemned  to  Siberian  exile  by  order  of  the  Czar — 
everything  is  by  order  of  the  Czar  in  that  vast,  despotically- 
governed  empire — they  proceed  first  to  Moscow,  where, 
after  a  brief  sojourn  in  the  great  convict  prison  there,  they 
start  on  their  awful  journey.  The  prison  is  some  distance 
from  the  city,  and  Philip  remembered  that  he  and  his 
father  rose  very  early  to  see  the  exiles  leave,  his  father 
having  some  mission  of  benevolence  to  one  of  them,  which 
he  was  allowed  to  undertake  by  order  of  the  Czar.  The 
penal  settlement  was  a  series  of  huts  and  houses  sur- 
rounded by  a  high  wall.  There  were  numerous  sentinels, 
and  they  had  many  formalities  to  go  through  before  Philip's 
father  saw  the  wretched  man  for  whom  he  had  brought  the 
last  parting  messages  from  a  broken-hearted  wife.  The 
prisoners  included  both  men  and  women,  and  they  were  as 

10 


146  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

a  rule  attired  in  a  uniform  kind  of  dress,  which  seemed  to 
Philip's  memory  to  be  a  long,  loose  great  coat  of  a  rough 
grey  cloth.  As  they  left  the  prison  they  saw  the  first  gang 
begin  their  march,  and  it  was  the  recollection  of  this  that 
had  enabled  Philip  to  give  life  and  reality  to  the  more 
terrible  narratives  of  which  he  had  since  read  and  heard — 
incidents  on  the  road,  deaths  by  the  way,  tragedies  en 
route,  during  which  the  Czar  had  been  relieved  of  many 
prisoners,  the  innocent  and  the  guilty,  the  hardened 
criminal  and  the  spotless  victim  of  his  infernal  rule. 
Philip  remembered  the  heavy  rings  that  were  riveted  upon 
the  legs  of  the  convicts,  one  for  each  ankle,  united  by  a 
chain,  which  fetters  were  linked  with  others,  holding 
groups  or  companies  together  to  render  the  surveillance  of 
their  guards  easy  and  complete,  as  they  held  their  weary 
way  across  the  vast  steppes  into  the  Siberian  wilds,  where 
even  Nature  allied  itself  with  the  Czar  to  torment  and  kill 
them. 

It  did  not  require  much  knowledge  or  imagination  to 
introduce  into  a  group  of  the  poor,  wretched  creatures 
that  young  student  falling  by  the  way,  nor  to  bring  a  suffer- 
ing woman  to  his  aid,  ncr  to  invoke  the  interposition  of 
the  brutal  Cossack  against  both  of  them.  This  was  the 
incident  upon  which  Philip  concentrated  his  mind  and  his 
brush,  and  to-day,  having  promised  himself  models  for 
these  three  figures,  he  still  went  on  painting  from  memory, 
a  touch  here,  a  correction  there. 

Unconsciously  he  found  that  he  was  sketching  himself 
as  the  dying  student.  Every  touch  he  put  into  the  figure 
made  it  more  and  more  like  him,  but  every  touch  upon 
the  woman  he  rubbed  out  again.  It  was  an  inspiration, 
that  woman's  face.  He  felt  it  as  such,  and  now  the  fear 
took  possession  of  him  afresh  that  he  would  never  be  able 
to  finish  it.  He  therefore  came  to  the  wise  conclusion 
not  to  touch  the  original  sketch  again,  but  to  make  new 
Studies  for  any  alterations  in  its  development. 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  147 

The  face  took  fresh  possession  of  him  as  he  worked  ; 
and  when  presently  he  began  to  think  again  of  Dolly,  and 
to  picture  in  his  mind  the  scene  she  had  forecast  of  a 
floating  gondola  on  the  Grand  Canal,  with  only  they  two 
and  the  gondolier  in  the  moonlight,  with  music  rising  and 
falling  in  the  sweet  Spring  air,  that  face  had  gradually  as  it 
were  eclipsed  Dolly's  cheerful,  love-inviting  features,  and  it 
was  at  the  feet  of  the  strange  woman  he  was  sitting,  and 
the  music  changed  to  the  appealing  and  the  dehant  strains 
of  the  mountain  scene,  with  the  loving  maiden  fresh  from 
the  innocent  village  and  the  dying  mother,  and  Philip  again 
looked  round  the  studio  as  if  someone  had  come  in  without 
opening  the  door. 

Then  with  a  sigh  he  laid  down  his  brushes,  and  stag- 
gered, rather  than  walked,  into  an  inner  room,  that  was 
fitted  up  as  part  bedroom,  part  sitting-room  and  dressing- 
room,  flung  himself  down  before  a  crucifix,  and  prayed 
with  all  his  heart  for  guidance,  for  aid,  and  for  comfort. 

When  he  rose  from  his  knees  he  returned  to  the  studio 
and  paced  to  and  fro  in  a  steady,  steadfast  manner, 
occasionally  running  his  fingers  through  his  hair,  but  never 
pausing  until  after  nearly  an  hour  of  this  physical  and 
mental  exercise — for  he  was  thinking  and  revolving  all 
manner  of  ideas  about  himself,  the  picture,  Dolly,  and  the 
woman  of  the  opera  box — he  drew  a  couch  before  the 
^tove,  lay  down,  and,  tired  in  mind  and  body,  drifted  into 
that  kind  of  sleep  which  Dickens  speaks  of  as  stealing 
upon  us  sometimes,  and  while  it  holds  the  body  prisoner 
does  not  free  the  mind  from  a  sense  of  things  about  it,  but 
enables  it  to  ramble  as  it  pleases. 

Philip,  resting  with  a  sense  of  the  happiness  that  comes 
with  the  redressing  of  every  physical  want,  wandered  off 
into  pleasanter  dreams  than  those  which  had  hitherto  filled 
his  waking  mind.  Once  more  it  was  Dolly  at  whose  feet 
h^  r?9line4  on  th?  waters  of  that  city  of  the  oce^^n  he  had 


I4S  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

longed  to  visit,  and  which  he  was  now  to  see  for  the  first 
time  in  loving  company,  with  blue  eyes  that  would  return 
his  admiring  gaze,  with  soft  hands  that  would  respond  to 
the  tender  pressure  of  his  own,  his  love  and  hers  set  to 
glorious  music,  and  basking  in  Italian  sunshine.  And  so 
the  time  passed  away.  The  sun  had  gone  down,  and  the 
mists  had  fallen  all  over  Primrose  Hill  when  he  awoke, 
his  fire  out,  and  only  a  faint  glimmer  of  the  gaslight  from 
without  showing  him  where  he  was,  the  half  waking  sleep 
of  his  first  hour  having  changed  into  a  dreamless  time, 
out  of  which  he  rose,  however,  cold,  and  feeling  the  prosaic 
sensations  of  hunger. 

Al  about  the  same  time  that  he  woke  up  Dick  Chetwynd 
arrived  at  the  Lodge.     "  Out  "  was  the  answer. 

"  But  '  In  '  and  working,"  said  Chetwynd. 

"  Well,  yes,  sir,"  said  the  porter's  wife,  '*  and  what  we 
considers  a  little  odd,  he  have  had  nothirg  to  eat  all  day  ; 
not  rung  his  bell  for  nothing,  and  come  ever  so  early." 

"  Sure  he  has  not  gone  out  ?  " 

"  Quite  sure." 

"  Then  I  think  I  might  break  the  rules  and  see  what  he 
is  about,  eh  ?  " 

**  Well,  sir,  you  might,  being  his  most  intimate  friend, 
and  exonerating  me  and  my  husband." 

"  Quite  so,"  said  Dick,  passing  through  the  barrier  and 
going  straight  to  Philip's  quarters,  which  had  a  separate 
porch  or  passage-way  and  were  especially  private  and 
secluded.  It  was  now  too  dark  to  see  the  legend  "  Out  " 
upon  the  wicket,  the  gas  lamp  at  the  entrance  only  seem- 
ing to  cast  the  door  in  darker  shadow." 

"  What  the  mischief  can  he  be  at  ?  "  Dick  said  to  himself 
as  he  performed  a  stirring  fantasia  upon  Philip's  knocker. 

The  door  was  almost  immediately  opened,  but  the 
studio  was  in  darkness,  every  blind  down,  the  only  light 
being  a  faint  gleam  from  some  outside  lamp.  "  Hello  1 " 
said  Dick.     "  What's  going  on  here  ?  " 


BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  149 

"  I  don't  know,  I  believe  I  am,"  said  Philip.  "  Come  in, 
Chetwynd ;  have  you  a  match  ?  " 

"A  match,  yes.     What's  the  matter?" 

"  Nothing's  the  matter,"  said  Philip,  "  only  that  I  have 
been  to  sleep."  ' 

"  What,  all  day  long  ?  "  asked  Dick,  lighting  a  match. 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  think  I  have,  or  else  been  dreaming. 
It  is  awfully  good  of  you  to  come,  old  chap." 

Philip  took  the  match  from  Dick,  lighted  a  lamp,  and 
shivered.     *'  Is  it  not  very  cold  ?     What's  the  time  ?  " 

*'  It  is  very  cold  and  the  time  is  seven  o'clock.  You 
have  not  dined  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Philip. 

'■\  That's  right,"  said  Dick,  "  I  have  not.  Come  home 
with  me.' 

"  My  mother  expects  me  to  dinner." 

*'  No,  she  does  not.  I  have  seen  her  ;  met  her  at  Mar- 
tinotti's  studio  ;  an  exhibition  of  his  models  for  the  Gari- 
baldi statue.  I  told  her  I  should  call  for  you  and  carry 
you  off.  But  what  have  you  been  doing,  my  dear  fellow  ? 
You  are  as  white  as  Martinotti's  plaster  I " 

"  I  have  been  trying  to  work." 

"  I  expected  to  find  you  radiant  after  what  happened  last 
night.  I  suppose  the  new  impulse  it  has  given  to  your 
ambition  has  set  you  working  too  hard  to-day  ?  You  must 
not  do  that.  I  congratulate  you,  my  dear  boy ;  it  is  a 
most  desirable  match  in  every  way." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Philip. 

"  You  hope  so,  you  young  vagabond  ?  "  said  Dick — he 
always  called  him  a  young  vagabond  when  he  liked  him 
most — '•  you  know  it  is." 

''  She  is  a  sweet  girl,"  said  Philip  ;  "  I  wish  I  was  worthy 
of  her." 

"  Worthy  ?  Fiddlesticks  !  Go  now  and  dress  and  let 
us  be  off;  you  don't  mean  to  say  you  have  been  here  all 


ISO  BV  OkDER  OF  TlfE  C2AR. 

day  without  luncheon,  and  not  even  open  your  newspapers  I 
This  will  not  do,  Phil,  even  when  a  young  fellow  is  in  love. 
So  you  have  been  working  on  the  sketch,  have  you? 
Humph  !  I  don't  think  I  should  touch  it  any  more  ;  get  at 
the  picture,  dear  old  chap,  that's  the  thing  to  do  now. 
And  I  have  tremendous  news  for  you  I  " 

" Indeed  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dress,  and  I'll  tell  you  as  we  go  Dorset-square." 

Philip  lighted  another  lamp,  and  went  into  the  next 
room. 

"  I  shall  smoke  while  you  dress." 

"  All  right,"  said  Philip,  "  but  come  in." 

**  No,  I  shall  amuse  myself  with  the  gold  medal ;  imagine 
you  carrying  it  off,  and  having  a  silk  rope  round  the  pic- 
ture at  the  Burlington  house,  or  at  another  Gallery  we  wot 
of  if  you  like." 

"  But  what  is  the  news?"  asked  Philip,  now  busy  dress- 
ing. 

"  Great  news,  Phil ;  the  making  of  your  picture.  I  shall 
not  tell  you  until  you  are  dressed." 

Philip,  now  thoroughly  aroused,  was  fairly  back  again  in 
the  every-day  world ;  he  put  his  head  into  the  washing 
bowl,  and  was  soon  all  aglow ;  it  did  not  take  him  ten 
minutes  t  dress,  and  the  porter's  wife  answered  the  bell 
with  unwonted  alacrity. 

"  I  have  a  hansom  at  the  gate,"  said  Dick,  when  Philip 
asked  the  porter's  wife  to  have  one  ordered. 

The  attendant  being  gone,  "  now,"  said  Philip,  "  what 
is  your  news,  Dick  ?  " 

"  Let  me  help  you  on  with  your  overcoat ;  it's  a  cold 
night,  bright  starlight,  frosty  ;  you  must  not  get  a  chill." 

'*  Oh,  I'm  all  right,"  said  Phil. 

"  But  you  do  not  exactly  belong  to  yourself  any  more, 
you  know ;  you  have  to  take  care,  for  Dolly's  sake." 

"  Very  well,"  replied  Phil,  just  a  little  impatiently ;  "  kt 
me  shut  the  door ;  all  right,  mind  the  step." 


SV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  15! 

Studio  lights  were  burning  in  the  windows,  the  married 
quarters  of  Hymen  with  the  torch  looking  more  cheerful 
than  any  other  of  the  homes  of  Art.  There  was  a  faint 
perfume  of  wall-flowers  from  an  adjacent  window  box  ;  the 
porter's  lodge  was  radiant  with  a  crackling  and  cheerful 
fire ;  and  in  the  street  was  a  hansom  with  two  white  lamps, 
which  were  presently  dancing  along  the  Albert-road  by 
Primrose  Hill  and  away  down  Baker-street  towards  Dorset- 
square. 

"  And  now,  Phil,"  said  Dick,  turning  to  his  friend,  "  pull 
yourself  together  for  the  news." 

"  I  have  been  doing  that  for  the  last  half  hour,"  said 
Philip. 

"  I  have  found  her." 

"  Great  heavens,  whom  ?  "  exclaimed  Philip ;  his  heart 
beating  wildly,  in  spite  of  himself. 

"Your  ghost  of  Madame  Lapukin.  But  more  like 
Cleopatra  than  Lapukin,  I  fancy." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  woman  1  saw  at  the  opera?  " 

"  Who  else  could  I  mean  ? ' 

"  How  do  you  know  it  is  her  ?  " 

"  From  your  description  and  your  portrait  of  her.  A 
superb  woman  I  But  not  half  so  melancholy  as  you  make 
out;  and  her  hair  is  chesnut,  not  red;  a  chesnut  that 
will  drive  you  crazy  ;  great  violet  eyes  set  in  a  colorless 
face  of  aesthetic  loveliness  ;  but  her  mouth  1  well,  it  is  the 
mouth  of  Clytemnestra  I " 

"  It  is  not  the  same  woman,  Dick." 

"  Yes,  it  is,  and  to-night  you  shall  see  her  and  talk  to 
her,  and  ask  her  to  sit  to  you." 

**  And  who  is  she  then  ?  "  Philip  asked,  "  and  why  did 
she  appear  in  Lady  Marchmount's  box  like  a  vision  and 
disappear  like  a  dream  ?  " 

"  You  can  ask  her  yourself.  I  saw  her  this  morning  at 
the  Gallery  ;  and  she  is  the  famous  Russian  Countess,  Olga 
Stravenski." 


§59  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

**  And  I  thought  she  might  have  been  a  Nihilistic  spy, 
the  victim  of  some  vile  conspiracy,"  said  Phil,  in  a  tone  of 
been  disappointment.  "  A  Russian  Countess  I  To  ask 
her  to  see  my  sketch  would  be  to  insult  her ;  to  sit  for 
that  suffering  angel  she  has  inspired,  an  outrage.  I  don't 
wish  to  see  her." 

"  Oh  yes,  you  do  !     Here  we  are." 

The  cab  pulled  up  at  one  of  the  best  houses  in  the 
square,  well-known  in  art  circles,  a  home  of  taste  and 
social  geniality. 

'*  She  is  coming  here  after  dinner  ;  and  I  have  to  thank 
you  for  the  honor,"  said  Dick,  as  he  turned  the  latch  with 
his  key.  ''  I  told  her  all  about  you,  and  she  shall  sit  for 
the  medaL" 


CHAPTER  XX. 

HOW   CHETWYND   MET   THE   COUNTESS. 

Mrs.  Chetwvnd  was  as  buxom  as  her  husband  was  genial. 
She  was  a  woman  of  the  right  sort  to  help  a  man  on  in 
life.  More  particularly  was  she  just  the  woman  for  Dick. 
In  his  early  days  of  journalistic  struggles  she  had  not  only 
enabled  him  to  keep  up  a  good  appearance  in  the  world, 
but  she  had  made  his  home  comfortable,  if  not  luxurious, 
on  two  pounds  a  week  ;  and  to-day  she  made  his  fifteen 
hundred  a  year  go  as  far  as  most  men's  five  thousand. 
Often  in  past  days  Mrs.  Chetwynd  had  cooked  a  dinner 
and  left  the  kitchen  to  preside  over  it,  and  had  played  the 
part  of  both  cook  and  hostess  equally  well.  Nor  was  she 
lacking  in  artistic  taste  or  literary  culture.  She  was  a 
bright,  clever  woman,  not  above  a  woman's  duty,  not 
ashamed  of  her  domestic  work,  and  happy  because  she 
had  made  Dick's  position  a  certainty. 


By  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  153 

"  We  have  always  been  equal  to  either  fortune,"  Dick 
would  say  in  confidential  moments,  when  discussing  the 
difficulties  of  the  London  battle ;  "  we  could  have  lived 
in  a  garret  at  any  time,  and  got  as  much  happiness  out  of 
it  as  if  it  had  been  a  palace ;  and  that  is  the  only  way  for 
a  man  and  woman  to  fight  the  battle  of  London  together." 

"  We  are  dining  in  Dick's  room  to-night,"  said  buxom 
Mrs.  Chetwynd,  "  because  we  have  a  reception,  and  I  want 
the  lower  rooms  of  the  house  free,  and,  morever,  I  like  to 
give  the  servants  every  chance  to  keep  their  heads,  and  we 
do  not  have  any  assistance  on  these  occasions,  Mr.  For- 
syth. Dick  does  not  believe  in  hired  waiters  and  manu- 
factured food." 

She  always  quoted  Dick  as  if  she  consulted  him  on 
everything,  which  she  did  not.  But  she  was  always 
anxious  to  have  it  understood  that  Dick  was  at  the  head 
of  affairs  as  much  in  Dorset-square  as  at  the  Gallery,  or  at 
his  editorial  office  in  Fleet  Street.  She  was  a  rosy,  pleasant, 
frank  hostess,  Mrs.  Chetwynd.  Hawthorne,  who  spoke 
of  English  women  as  beefy,  would  probably  have  noted  in 
her  an  absence  of  what  might  be  termed  the  dainty 
spirituelle  side  of  the  feminine  character  which  is  very 
attractive  to  some  men ,  but  she  was  a  type  of  that 
English  womanhood  which  has  given  to  the  English  char- 
acter, in  all  ages,  its  energy,  its  muscle,  its  open  fearless 
features,  and  its  national  dignity.  She  was  the  picture  of 
a  refined  Rubens.  She  had  the  rounded  lirbs,  but  they 
M'ere  firm  and  shapely ;  she  had  the  blonde  face,  but  it 
was  neither  fat  nor  thin ;  the  fair  hair  ;  but  she  had  the 
mouth  and  eyes  of  an  intellectual  as  well  as  a  beautiful 
English  woman  ;  and  Dick's  friends  noticed  that  she  con- 
tinually grew  more  and  more  like  her  husband,  the  result 
of  perfect  unity  of  sympathy  and  a  sincere  and  abiding 
love. 

*'  The  moment  she  came  into  the  Gallery  to-day,"  said 


154  ^y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

Dick,  telling  his  v  ife  and  Philip  how  he  had  met  the  Coun- 
tess Stravensky,  "  I  was  struck  with  her  appearance ;  so 
sad  yet  so  beautiful ;  and  thought  of  the  face  in  the  sketch. 
She  was  attended  by  an  Italian  Jew,  one  Andrea  Ferrari, 
who  is  said  to  be  her  private  secretary ;  he  seems  to  be 
both  footman  and  secretary,  man-of-all-work  to  her ;  a 
curious,  wiry,  active,  though  watchful  little  chap,  just  the 
sort  of  person  one  could  imagine  as  the  agent  of  a  revolu- 
tionary conspiracy  ;  a  firm,  thin  mouth,  shaggy  eyebrows, 
a  low  but  compact  forehead,  black  hair  with  streaks  of 
white  in  it,  all  nerves  and  muscles,  and  with  two  ferret-like 
eyes  deep  set  in  his  head.  And  somehow  it  was  not  only 
the  countess'  appearance  that  brought  the  woman  of  the 
opera  to  my  mind,  but  Ferrari ;  for  he  seemed  to  me,  at 
once,  to  belong  to  the  situation,  and  I  added  him  mentally 
to  the  Siberian  group.  Very  odd  all  this  ;  but  life  is  odd, 
eh  ?  Don't  pass  that  sherry,  Philip,  it  is  the  purest 
Amontillado  and  it  positively  helps  the  soup  ;  ask  Agnes." 

Mrs.  Chetwynd  was  Agnes,  and  she  at  once  endorsed 
her  husband's  recommendation  of  the  sherry.  Philip 
allowed  his  glass  to  be  filled,  but  made  no  reply  to  Dick's 
remark,  by  the  way,  dropped  in  really  for  the  purpose  of 
helping  Philip  to  take  the  subject  of  the  woman  of  the 
opera  as  nearly  like  ordinary  conversation  as  possible. 

"  But  she  is  a  Russian  countess  ?  "  said  Philip. 

"  Yes,  that's  the  trouble — I  mean  that  is  the  difficulty 
about  getting  her  to  sit.  Her  secretary  handed  me  a  spe- 
cial note  of  introduction,  from  an  old  friend  of  mine  con- 
nected with  continental  journalism,  and  I  made  a  point  of 
talking  to  her  and  to  him.  She  made  a  romantic  marriage, 
it  seems,  in  Moscow,  to  the  dying  Count  Stravensky — one 
of  the  most  devoted  of  the  Czar's  nobles,  whose  patriotism 
had  been  greatly  tried,  who  had  indeed  suffered  persecu- 
tion at  the  hands  of  the  Czar,  and  still  remained  faithful ,' 
and  as  if  to  make  up  for  the  dead  man,  the  Czar  has  since 


By  ORDER  OP  TtlE  CZAR.  I55 

shown  much  favor  to  his  widow,  who  is  now  travelling  for 
her  health." 

"  And  you  think  her  beautiful  ?  "  asked  Philip. 

"  She  is  your  picture,  and  as  sombre  in  expression,  until 
you  rouse  her  interest ;  then  her  eyes — they  are  of  a  rich 
violet — light  up,  and  her  smile  is  simply  divine." 

"  And  you  will  find  the  chicken  not  to  be  despised/' 
remarked  Mrs.  Chetwynd,  "  if  you  will  allow  me  to  sug- 
gest anything  so  mundane ;  the  Surrey  chicken  ought  to 
be  canonized  in  the  cook's  calendar." 

"  Yes  ;  don't  let  the  countess  take  away  your  appetite ; 
and  here's  to  the  gold  medal !  " 

Dick  nodded  to  his  guest  over  a  glass  of  champagne,  and 
Mrs.  Chetwynd  said  :  "  But  you  did  not  tell  me  why  I  am 
to  have  the  honor  of  this  paragon  of  beauty's  presence  to- 
night without  a  formal  invitation  ?  " 

"  She  informed  me  that  she  expects  to  leave  Lonaon  to- 
morrow or  on  the  next  day,"  said  Dick,  '*  and  may  not 
return  ;  which  emboldened  me  to  say  how  much  I  regretted 
you  had  not  had  ti\e  pleasure  of  meeting  her,  in  order  that 
you  might  have  invited  the  honor  of  her  company  at  your 
'  at  liome  '  to-night,  and  so  on.  Then  I  told  her  all  about 
PhiHp  and  his  picture;  how  it  had  been  ir  pired ;  inti- 
mating with  a  poetic  and  mysterious  touch  thai  I  believed 
you  had  dreamed  you  had  seen  her  at  the  opera,  and  how 
you  had  tried  to  suggest  such  a  face  as  hers  in  the  very  last 
position  possible,  and  that  you  were  searching  London 
for  the  face  you  vowed  you  had  seen,  in  order  to  ask  the 
owner  to  sit  for  your  picture.  She  seemed  more  interested 
in  what  I  said  than  she  cared  to  exhibit.  I  thought  she 
winced,  and  that  a  shade  of  color  spread  over  her  pale, 
handsome  face  when  I  mentioned  your  having  seen  her  at 
the  opera.  She  turned  and  spoke  to  her  secretar> ,  who, 
while  she  appeared  to  talk  quite  familiarly  with  him, 
treated  her  with  the  greatest  deference,  if  not  with  slavish 
• 


IS6  Sr  ORDER  OP  THE  CZAR. 

humility.  *  You  interest  me  in  your  friend,'  she  said,  in 
a  voice  that  was  soft  and  musical.  *  Since  that  was  my 
object,'  I  said,  *  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  you  say  so.  You 
are  an  artist  yourself,  perhaps  ? '  '  No,  I  love  art,'  she 
replied,  '  I  have  lived  in  Italy  and  France.'  *  Then  you 
would  not  be  offended  if  I  say  that  if  you  had  been  going 
to  stay  in  London  for  any  length  of  time  I  would  have 
petitioned  you  to  sit  to  my  young  friend.' " 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Dick,"  exclaimed  Philip,  "  and 
you  have  a  lot  more  courage  than  I  have  1  " 

"  You  are  not  a  journalist  with  ten  years  of  experience 
as  a  war  correspondent,"  said  Mr.  Chetwynd. 

"  I  would  not  like  to  ask  the  countess  anything  at 
which  she  might  take  offence,"  said  Dick.  "  There  is 
sorrow  in  her  eye,  and  softness  in  her  voice,  but  there  is 
the  devil  there  also.  And  mark  me,  Philip,  you  are  right 
in  thinking  there  is  a  remarkable  history  behind  that 
face. 

"  How  do  you  mean,  Dick  ?  "  Philip  asked. 

''  I  mean  that  it  appealed  to  you  as  a  face  that  had  seen 
a  world  of  persecution  and  trouble.  You  have  more  than 
hinted  at  a  woman  who  has  suffered  and  will  be  revenged. 
Your  artistic  instinct  is  right,  I  believe." 

"  But  do  you  really  think  she  is  the  woman  I  saw  ?  " 

"  T  know  she  is." 

♦'  How  ?  " 

"  By  your  portrait,  and  from  her  anxiety  to  see  you." 

"  Her  anxiety  to  see  me  !  "  exclaimed  Philip,  the  blood 
rushing  to  his  temples. 

"  Don't  blush,  Philip— I  mean  do,"  said  Dick,  "  I  like 
to  see  a  young  fellow  blush ;  I  sometimes  wish  I  could. 
When  I  had  fired  that  shot,  about  you  having  seen  a  face 
at  the  opera  which  you  had  gone  home  and  put  inio  a  pic- 
ture of  a  tragic  character,  she  tried  to  disguise  her  interest, 
I  had  almost  said  her  alarm ;  and  she  smiled  sweetly,  but 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  157 

with  an  effort,  when  I  told  her  your  name  and  spoke  of 
your  mother ;  she  knew  your  mother's  name,  and  her 
private  secretary  or  guardian,  or  official  executioner  or 
whatever  he  may  be,  said  Lady  Forsyth  was  well  known 
in  Russia.  *  She  is  a  rebel,'  I  said  smiling,  *  as  much  a 
rebel  possibly  against  Queen  Victoria  as  she  is  against  the 
Czar,  so  you  must  forgive  her;  and  besides  we  play  with 
revolution  in  England,  toy  with  Socialism  and  lo  on,  just 
as  we  do  with  aestheticism  and  private  theatricals.'  *  Yes,' 
she  said  inquiringly,  and  inviting  me  to  go  on.  'And  the 
young  artist  I  am  speaking  of  was  born  in  Russia,  and  of 
course  he  will  take  the  sentimental  and  romantic  side  of 
Russian  politics.'  *  Then  his  picture  is  political  ? '  she  said, 
with  a  strong  note  of  interrogation.  *  More  or  less,'  I 
said  j  '  it  is  a  fanciful  sketch  at  present  of  the  road  to 
Siberia,  and — don't  smile — and  pray  do  not  be  angry — its 
central  figure  is  very  much  like  your  ladyship.'  She 
started  at  this,  and  said  as  if  amused,  '  You  alarm  me,  Mr. 
Chetwynd  ;  if  we  were  in  Russia,  and  you  talked  to  me  in 
this  way,  I  should  suspect  you  were  an  officer  in  disguise, 
and  that  you  had  a  file  of  soldiers  at  the  door.'  The  secretary 
stood  by  and  watched  me  closely.  I  felt  his  little  ferret 
eyes  upon  me,  though  every  time  I  looked  up  he  was  appa- 
rently gazing  upon  Holman  Hunt's  *  Scapegoat,'  and  I 
wondered  afterwards  if  it  suggested  to  him  anything  beyond 
its  realistic  ugliness.  She  had  taken  a  seat  beneath  one  of 
the  palms  in  the  Western  room  of  the  Gallery,  and  the 
more  I  talked  to  her  the  more  she  invited  me  to  go  on — 
that  is,  she  listened  with  attention  and  made  an  encour- 
aging remark  now  and  then.  I  told  her  that  my  wife  took  a 
deep  interest  in  your  career.  She  said  she  would  have 
liked  to  meet  my  wife  ;  I  said  my  wife  had  a  reception  to- 
night, and  that  you  would  be  coming  to  us,  and  if  she 
would  deign  to  accept  so  late  and  informal  an  invitation, 
how  much  honored  we  all  should  be.     She  said  at  once  she 


IS8  ^y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

would,  and  before  the  day  was  over,  in  response  to  a  tele- 
gram, Agnes  had  called  and  left  cards,  and  this  morning  we 
had  her  ladyship's  acceptance  ;  and  here  is  her  letter  ;  a 
firm,  sharp  hand,  is  it  not  ?  " 

Dick  handed  the  letter  to  Philip,  who  looked  earnestly 
at  it,  and  returned  it. 

"  Yes,  what  I  should  call  a  fine,  cultured  hand,  rather 
pointed  in  style  ;  but  a  noble  signature." 

"You  seem  to  be  both  worshippers  at  this  Russian 
shrine,"  said  Mrs.  Chetwynd,  "  I  hope  I  shall  not  be  dis- 
appointed. Now  you  are  going  to  smoke,  so  I  shall  leave 
you  ;  we  will  meet  again,  Mr.  Forsyth,  in  the  drawing-room 
at  ten,  and  later  I  will  tell  you  what  I  think  of  Madame  la 
Russe." 

Philip  opened  the  library  door  for  the  hostess,  who 
passed  out  with  a  bow  and  a  smile,  and  presently  he  and 
Dick  over  cigars  and  coffee  continued  to  discuss  the  Coun- 
tess Stravensky. 

"  How  old  do  you  think  she  is  ?  "  asked  the  artist. 

"  Thirty  or  more,"  said  Dick,  "  and  a  widow.  Not  too 
old  to  make  a  certain  young  lad^  jealous." 

''  Do  you  think  she  will  sit  for  me  ?  "  Philip  asked,  dis- 
regarding Dick's  badinage. 

"  Not  if  she  is  leaving  London  to-morrow." 

"  You  think  she  is  going  away  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't.". 

"Why?" 

"  Because  she  spoke  of  leaving  town  as  if  she  were  in 
doubt  about  it ;  and  when  a  woman  is  in  doubt  she  does 
not  do  what  she  says  she  thinks  she  will." 

"  If  she  sat  for  me  of  course  I  need  not  show  her  my 
sketch." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Because  she  would  be  entirely  out  of  sympathy  with  it. 
It  would  be  like  asking  Lady  Salisbury  to  sit  for  the 
heroine  of  an  Irish  eviction." 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  159 

"  Who  knows.  She  may  be  favorable  to  the  young 
Russian  party." 

"  What,  as  the  widow  of  a  Russian  nobleman,  devoted 
to  the  Czar  ?  " 

"  The  possibility  I  suggest  is,  of  course,  very  remote  ; 
but  her  secretary,  Signor  Andrea  Ferrari,  who  is  evidently 
her  right  hand,  looks  anything  but  the  character  of  a  Rus- 
sian loyalist ;  moreover  he  is  a  Jew,  and  furthermore  he  is 
an  Italian  Jew." 

"  Might  it  be  possible  that  he  is  in  the  pay  of  the  Russian 
Government  ?  " 

"  It  might ;  anything  is  possible,"  Dick  replied,  "  but  I 
thought  a  passing  glimmer  of  satisfaction  passed  over  his 
otherwise  Sphinx-like  face  when  I  said  your  mother  was  a 
rebel.  Anyhow  they  are  a  strange  couple  ;  and  the  lady 
is  a  wonderfully  fascinating  and  lovely  woman.  Why  she 
should  be  peering  about  in  Lady  Marchmount's  box,  as 
you  seem  to  have  seen  her,  is  an  odd  thing,  the  more  so 
that  in  the  opposite  box,  or  at  least  the  one  nearly  oppo- 
site, was  a  distinguished  Russian  party  ;  one  would  think 
that  the  Countess  Stravensky  would  have  known  her  com- 
patriots, and  would  have  visited  them  or  they  her  ! " 

"Yes,"  said  Philip  in  a  thoughtful  way;  "and  what  is 
equally  strange  is  that  Lady  Marchmount  says  she  was  not 
in  her  box." 

"  True  ;  you  had  not  got  into  an  unhealthy  state  of 
mind  over  your  work  and  fancied  you  saw  her,  eh  ?  " 

"No,  and  I  cannot  help  thinking  she  had  some  secret 
curiosity  to  satisfy  in  regard  to  that  Russian  General 
Petronovitch  and  his  bride.  When  I  thought  of  the  inci- 
dent later  I  wondered  if  she  were  afraid  they  might  see 
her ;  whether  the  bride  might  have  been  a  rival ;  or  if  she 
wished  to  recall  the  appearance  of  some  person  in  that  box 
whom  she  had  not  seen  perhaps  for  a  long  time.  Lady 
Marchmount  was,  to  my  thinking,  telling  a  diplomatic  lie 
when  she  said  no  one  had  been  into  her  box." 


l60  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

"  But  you  did  not  see  her  speak  to  Lady  Marchmount?  " 

"  No." 

"Therefore,  it  would  be  in  keeping  with  the  mystery 
you  have  managed  to  surround  what  after  all  is  not  extra- 
ordinary incident,  if  the  countess,  walking  along  the  corri- 
dor, had  mistaken  Lady  Marchmount's  box  for  her  own  ; 
or  finding  the  door  open  had  looked  in  and  availed  herself 
of  the  opportunity,  from  behind  the  curtain,  to  take  a 
glance  at  the  Russian  box." 

"  I  can't  say,"  Philip  replied,  "  but  nobody  except  my- 
self seems  to  have  seen  her  in  the  theatre ;  that's  the 
puzzle  I " 


CHAPTER  XXL       - 

"a    kind   of    MONTE   CHRISTO    IN    PETTICOATS." 

Mrs.  Chetwynd's  reception  began  at  half-past  nine.  At 
ten  o'clock  there  was  a  fair  sprinkling  of  arrivals.  The 
people  who  meant  to  get  away  early,  or  who  had  other 
places  to  go  during  the  night,  came  with  something  like 
punctuality.  But  the  lady's  intimate  friends  and  the  lions 
of  the  night  did  not  begin  to  arrive  until  eleven,  and  some 
of  them  came  after  the  opera  and  the  theatres. 

Dick  and  his  candidate  for  the  gold  medal  went  into  the 
drawing-room  at  ten  o'clock,  and  found  pleasant  opportu- 
nities of  assisting  the  hostess  to  entertain  her  guests. 
Among  the  early  arrivals  was  Phil's  mother,  Lady  Forsyth, 
who  was  attired  in  soft  black  silk,  with  handsome  jewellery 
of  diamonds  and  emeralds,  among  her  finest  ornaments 
being  her  favorite  four-leaved  shamrock,  in  gold  enamel 
and  emeralds,  and  an  Irish  harp  for  a  brooch.  She  was 
still  a  handsome  woman,  though  her  hair  was  almost  white, 
and  the  roses  had  long  since  faded  from  her  cheeks.     She 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  l6l 

entered  the  room  at  about  the  same  time  as  Lady  March* 
mount,  whose  husband  was  one  of  the  Radical  leaders,  and 
had,  under  Mr.  Gladstone,  fulfilled  semi-official  missions 
both  to  Rome  and  Russia ;  her  ladyship  posed  somewhat 
as  a  political  wire-puller  on  her  own  account,  and  delighted 
to  be  considered  as  in  the  secrets  of  foreign  Governments. 
She  found  a  pleasant,  occupation  in  patronizing  the  Irish 
party,  and  holding  out  a  friendly  hand  to  Lady  Forsyth. 

"  Mrs.  Chetwynd  tells  me  that  she  expects  the  Countess 
Stravensky,"  said  Lady  Marchmount  to  Lady  Forsyth, 
when,  after  receiving  the  homage  of  some  lesser  lights, 
they  found  themselves  pretending  to  listen  to  a  brilliant 
pianoforte  fantasia  in  one  of  Mrs.  Chetwynd's  most  com- 
fortable seats. 

"  Indeed  ?  "  was  Lady  Forsyth's  reply. 

"  A  remarkable  woman,  who  only  arrived  in  town  a 
week  ago.  I  hope  to  see  her  before  the  night  is  over  at  the 
Russian  Embassy." 

"  Remarkable  in  what  way  ?  "  asked  Philip's  mother. 

"  She  made  a  death-bed  marriage,  the  story  of  which  was 
told  the  other  day  in  the  Gaulois.  A  lady  of  no  family  in 
particular,  poor  but  clever,  a  widow  of  a  young  and  learned 
Jew  ;  the  Count  Stravensky,  a  very  wealthy  Russian  noble- 
man, met  her  in  France,  old  enough  to  be  her  grandfather, 
fell  in  love  with  her  and  obtained  the  Czar's  permission  to 
marry  her.  He  had  rendered  the  Government  great  ser- 
vices both  civil  and  military,  was  taken  ill  in  Paris  and 
they  were  married  two  hours  before  he  died ;  she  took  his 
body  to  Russia,  saw  it  ceremoniously  buried  in  the  church 
of  Vilnavitch  or  some  such  place — I  forget  the  name — en- 
tered into  possession  of  his  vast  estates,  sold  them,  left 
Russia,  and  consoled  herself  for  her  double  matrimonial 
disappointment  by  traveling  from  place  to  place,  enter- 
taining herself  with  acts  of  charity,  especially  in  the  inter- 
ests oi  the  jews,  actually  went  and  lived  in  the  ghetto  at 

11 


1 62  SY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

Venice  three  years  ago — think  of  it ! — and,  in  spite  of  the 
Russian  persecution  of  the  chosen  people,  is  said  to  be 
hand  and  glove  with  the  Russian  Government  in  its  fight 
with  the  Nihilists — a  curious  story,  is  it  not  ? '" 

"  Very  1 "  said  Lady  Forsyth  ;  "  an  eccentric  evidently 
— some  women  find  delight  in  compelling  the  world  to  talk 
about  them." 

"  You  have  only  to  be  very  rich,  a  widow,  handsome, 
and  affecting  a  mission,  to  have  all  the  world  that  is  worth 
knowing  interested  in  you,"  responded  Lady  Marchmount. 
"The  Countess  Stravensky  is  a  woman  to  know." 

"A  kind  of  Monte  Christo  in  petticoats,"  suggested 
Lady  Forsyth ;  and  as  she  said  so  Philip  came  up,  and 
Lady  Marchmount  moved  away. 

"  She  is  coming  here  to-night,  mother,"  he  said. 

"  And  who  is  '  she '  when  she  comes — Dolly  ?  "  asked  his 
mother,  making  room  for  him  to  sit  by  her  side. 

'*  No ;  the  lady  I  saw  at  the  opera  whose  face  I  sug- 
gested in  the  medal  sketch.  Chetwynd  assures  me  it  is  the 
very  woman." 

**  Then  I  believe  I  can  guess  who  she  is,"  said  his  mother ; 
"  Lady  Marchmount  has  been  telling  me  about  her." 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  Philip.  "  Lady  Marchmount  knows  her 
then  ?  " 

"  If  it  is  the  Countess  Stravensky,  who  has  been  married 
twice  and  widowed  with  curious  promptitude — in  the  case 
of  one  husband,  at  all  events " 

Before  she  could  finish  the  sentence,  both  mother  and 
son  yielded  to  the  same  impulse  to  look  towards  the  door 
at  the  announcement  (which  then  immediately  followed 
the  close  of  that  little-noticed  fantasia)  of  the  Countess 
Stravensky. 

Mrs.  Chetwynd  went  forward  and  received  the  lady  with 
unusual  empressement.  The  countess  responded  with 
graceful  informality,  almost  interrupting  Mrs.  Chetwynd's 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  163 

society  bow  by  extending  her  hand  to  be  shaken,  and  at 
the  same  time  addressing  some  pleasant  word  of  thanks 
for  being  permitted  to  accept  Mrs.  Chetwynd's  invitation 
so  unceremoniously.  The  next  moment  she  was  speaking 
with  Dick,  all  unconscious  of  the  admiration  she  was  call- 
ing forth  on  all  hands^. 

She  wore  a  long,  trailing  Empire  dress  of  straw-colored 
silk,  covered  with  crape  of  the  same  dainty  hue,  trimmed 
with  garlands  of  golden  laburnum,  that  seemed  to  accent- 
uate the  rich  gold  of  her  hair,  at  the  same  time  deadening 
the  paleness  of  her  cheeks  and  giving  death  to  the  violet 
of  her  eyes.  Her  jewellery  consisted  of  the  topaz  and  the 
diamond  exquisitely  blended.  In  harmony  with  her  cos- 
tume, her  hair  was  dressed  in  the  Empire  fashion,  giving 
an  added  height  to  her  imposing  figure ;  her  tresses  were 
held  up,  as  it  seemed,  by  one  magnificent  pin  of  topaz,  set 
in  a  shimmering  halo  of  diamonds.  Long  gloves  draped 
her  arms,  she  carried  a  yellow-ostrich-feather  fan,  and  from 
one  arm  depended  a  crape  shawl,  the  fringe  of  which  swept 
the  floor  with  her  train.  Upon  her  left  wrist  was  an  an- 
cient Arabian  amulet  composed  of  topaz,  through  which  in 
Arabic  was  bored  in  curious  stars  the  word  "Vengeance." 
Mr.  Chetwynd's  guests  only  saw  the  sombre  yellow  bangle  \ 
they  little  dreamed  of  the  great,  solemn,  terrible  oath  that 
had  been  sworn  upon  it. 

The  countess  was  no  otner  than  our  Queen  of  the  Ghetto, 
poor  Anna  Klosstock.  The  reader  will  know  how  to  cor- 
rect some  of  the  information  which  Lady  Marchmount  gave 
to  Lady  Forsyth.  Though  it  was  not  quite  unexpected, 
the  marriage  with  the  Count  Stravensky  will  be  new  to 
them.  In  regard  to  the  details  of  that  interesting  and  ro- 
mantic union,  it  is  possible  we  may  hear  the  story  from  the 
lips  of  Andrea  Ferrari,  or  from  the  mouth  of  the  countess 
herself.  Meanwhile  the  reader's  interest  especially  at  the 
moment  will  be  with  Philip  Forsyth,  who,  sitting  with  his 


|64  '  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

mother  within  the  shadow  of  the  window-seat,  had  noted 
the  beautiful  image  that  had  inspired  his  tragic  picture, 
though  now  and  then  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  there  were  a 
world  of  comedy  also  in  the  lady's  smile  ;  but  the  young 
artist  was  not  sufficiently  experienced  in  the  dr'imas  of 
real  life  to  be  well  acquainted  with  the  acting  that  is  often 
more  intense  on  the  real  than  on  the  mimic  stage.  The 
countess  had  a  part  to  play,  and  she  played  it  to  perfection 
when  the  audience  was  in  evidence.  When  she  was  alone 
with  her  Fate  there  were  even  times  when  she  tried  to  forget 
herself,  or  only  to  remember  those  happy  early  days  of  Czar- 
ovna,  the  awful  eclipse  of  which  the  reader  has  a  mel?ncholy 
knowledge.  Phil  noted  her  pale  fair  face,  her  soft  violet 
eyes,  her  wealth  of  deep-red  hair,  her  grace,  her  imposing 
figure,  her  distinguished  manner ;  but  never  once  did  he  find 
a  suggestion  of  the  sad,  somewhat  weird  look  in  her  eyes, 
until  he  had  talked  with  her,  as  he  did  presently,  after 
Mrs.  Chetwynd  had  brought  him  where  she  was  sitting 
beneath  a  cluster  of  tall  palms,  near  the  great  open  ingle 
nook  which  Mrs.  Chetwynd  had  constructed  in  her  drawing 
room  in  defiance  of  many  rules  of  art,  but  with  singularly 
picturesque  effect. 

"  Mr.  Chetwynd  has  told  me  of  your  picture,"  she  said, 
in  a  rich  musical  voice,  and  with  an  accent  of  a  somewhat 
composite  character,  neither  French  nor  German,  but  with 
a  touch  of  both,  and  perhaps  also  a  suggestion  of  Rus- 
sian. "  Your  picture  interests  me." 

"You  are  very  kind  to  say  so." 

'•  I  say  so,  not  simply  to  be  kind,  but  for  the  truth  that 
it  is  so." 

*•  I  fear  my  friend  has  exaggerated  its  merits,"  said 
Philip,  beginning  to  feel  at  his  ease  after  the  first  flutter  of 
nervousness  and  admiration. 

"  It  is  of  the  subject  that  I  am  also  interested  ;  it  has 
the  merit,  that  of  sympathy.     You  were  born  in  Rusr-ia  ?  " 


^V  ORDER  OF  TitE  CZAR,  165 

"  Yes,"  said  Philip.  "  I  was  partly  educated  in  Mos- 


cow." 


"  Ana  perhaps  it  is  that  you  saw  some  of  the  exiles  on 
their  long  journey ;  their  sufferings  touched  your  heart, 
you  were  so  young.     Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

'*  It  is  not  necessary  to  be  young,  madame,  to  feel  sorry 
for  the  wretched." 

*'  Ah,  you  say  well ;  you  have  a  good  r  ature,  and  I  would 
I  might  be  your  friend,  but  I  was  the  friend  and  more  of 
one  of  whom  your  face  reminds  me.  But  my  friendship 
does  not  make  good  for  those  I  love,"  and  Philip  saw  that 
sad  look  of  the  theatre  come  into  the  expressive  eyes  and 
harden  the  mouth  for  a  moment,  to  give  way  to  a  softer 
look  and  a  more  tender  tone  of  voice ;  and  he  was  right  in 
his  observation ;  for  the  mo'ment  the  countess  saw  Philip 
Forsyth,  she  said  to  herself,  "  That  young  man  has  the 
eyes  and  the  expression  in  them  of  my  beloved  Losinski, 
and  the  same  tender  heart ;  it  is  strange  that  I  should  have 
been  interested  in  him  before  I  saw  him."  As  she  spoke  to 
Philip  there  seemed  to  be  tones  in  his  voice  that  reminded 
her  of  Losinski,  and  with  the  memory  there  came  the  sha- 
dow of  Petronovitch  and  the  knout ;  but  with  a  great  effort 
she  kept  to  the  softer  side  of  the  memory,  and  she  talked 
with  Philip  as  she  had  never  talked  to  human  being  since 
the  tragedy,  from  which  she  emerged  not  only  alive  but 
with  a  strange  power  and  a  strange  beauty. 

Philip  felt  the  magic  influence  of  her  sudden  awakening 
to  human  sympathy.  For  ten  years  she  had  not  until  now 
felt  one  throb  of  human  feeling  that  had  not  been  accom- 
panied with  a  pang  of  hatred,  revenge,  and  revolt  at  the 
world  and  everything  in  it.  Her  charities  had  been  as 
much  in  the  way  of  protest  and  revenge  as  any  other  action 
of  her  life.  She  had  lain  next  door  to  death  for  twelve 
months  in  the  Czarovna  hospital,  half  the  first  months  of 
the  time  in  terror  of  mind  and  body  indescribable.  When 


i66  ^y  ORDER  OP  THE  CZaR. 

she  was  sufficiently  recovered  for  removal,  the  nevi^  Go- 
vernor, succeeding  Petronovitch,  who  was  promoted  for 
his  patriotic  quelling  of  the  riotous  Jews,  found  means  to 
comply  with  the  wishes  of  the  Count  Stravensky,  and 
Anna  Klosstock  found  friends  in  France,  friends  and  fellow 
sufferers,  friends  and  agents  of  the  propaganda,  friends 
and  work  ;  disappearing  for  five  years,  losing  all  identity 
with  Anna  Klosstock,  she  made  an  entry  into  Parisian  life 
that  was  more  or  less  distinguished,  and  soon  afterwards 
married  the  Count  Stravensky — his  last  act  of  enmity  to- 
wards the  Government  of  the  Czar. 

"  And  if  I  am  a  friend  of  the  great  Czar,  our  Russian 
Father,  I  can  still  feci  foi  those  who  suffer,"  said  the  coun- 
tess to  Philip  j  "  it  is  rot  that  we  must  be  of  what  is  called 
the  young  Russian  party  to*  be  sorry  for  the  exile,  the 
prisoner,  the  miserable,  and  those  who  give  their  liberty 
and  life  for  a  cause,  or  for  a  sentiment ;  forme,  suffering  is 
of  no  party,  misery  of  no  nationality.  You  interest  me  ;  I 
wiU  go  to  your  atelier  and  sit  for  that  sad  woman  in  your 
picture.  Mr.  Chetwynd  shall  make  a  convenient  arrange- 
ment that  shall  be  agreeable  to  you,  and  I  will  do  myself 
the  honor  to  make  a  call  upon  your  mother.  Till  then, 
adieu  !  " 

When  the  countess'  carriage  was  called,  it  had  already 
an  occupant.  Andrea  Ferrari  stepped  out,  gave  his  hand 
to  madame,  and  closed  ilic  door  upon  her.  The  lookers 
on  saw  him  address  the  lady  as  if  for  instructions.  What 
he  said  was  rather  in  the  way  of  giving  orders.  "  Pet*-©- 
novitch  and  his  wife  left  London  for  Paris  by  the  mail. 
We  are  in  good  time  for  the  Reception  at  the  Embassy; 
we  shall  drive  thither?  " 

The  counress  bowed  her  acquiescence,  the  Italian  took  a 
seat  on  the  box,  the  carriage  drove  rapidly  atvay,  and  the 
countf»««?  soon  afterwards,  between  the  elaborate  courses  of 
ar.  elaborate  Anglo-Russian  supper,  listened  to  an  English 


BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  167 

duke's  assurances  of  syr       hy  with  the  Czar  and  his 
Government. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

FACE   TO   FACE. 

A  MONTH  of  Strange  atmospheric  vagaries — the  month  of 
April  in  the  English  Metropolis — a  month  of  sun  and 
shade,  of  calm  and  storm,  of  east  winds  and  southern 
breezes,  of  rain  and  sleet,  of  cruel  chills  and  softened 
tenderness  ;  and  all  the  while  a  month  of  budding  blos- 
soms, of  waving  leaves  and  scented  sweetbriar;  a  monthj 
so  to  speak,  of  ups  and  downs,  like  a  man's  life.  It 
lacked,  perhaps,  the  violent  contrasts,  nevertheless,  of  the 
career  of  the  Countess  Stravensky,  who,  despite  the  blast- 
ing cyclone  of  ill-fortune,  stood  when  all  was  over  like  a 
poplar  that  had  been  able  to  defy  the  storm,  but  stood  all 
alone,  with  tl^e  forest  torn  and  ragged  and  uprooted  around 
it. 

When  Philip  Forsyth,  the  morning  afver  Mrs.  Chetwynd's 
reception,  walked  from  Gower  Street  to  his  studio  beyond 
Primrose  Hill  to  receive  his  new  and  strangely  fascinating 
sitter,  London  was  a  summer  city,  though  it  was  still  only 
April,  and  there  had  been  a  fall  of  snow  and  a  hailstorm 
in  the  preceding  week.  Regent's  Park  was  radiant  with 
a  sunshine  that  had  in  it  the  warmth  of  June  with  the 
freshness  of  the  most  genial  of  Spring  days,  and  there 
Y,'ere  pleasant  shadows  in  it  from  the  trail  of  morning 
clouds,  and  the  air  was  full  of  the  perfume  of  flowers. 
The  brown  tanned  beds  in  the  broad  walk  were  gay  with 
budding  hyacinths,  and  the  fountain  was  making  music  in  its 
granite  basin.  The  chestnuts  were  full  of  white  promise 
of  early  bloom,  and  the  leaves  were  as  fresh  and  green  as 


i68  Sy  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

if  they  were  the  new-bom  leaves  of  some  remote  wood 
far  away  from  city  smoke  and  fog.  The  first  swallows  of 
the  year  twittered  as  they  floated  overhead,  and  blackbirds 
were  making  lute  breakfasts  upon  the  green  sward  which 
they  investigated  with  hurried  and  flashing  beaks. 

Philip  in  a  dull  kind  of  way  was  conscious  of  all  this  : 
it  came  as  an  accompaniment  to  his  thoughts  of  other 
things,  more  particularly  to  his  meeting  with  the  Countess 
Stravensky,  and  to  the  object  of  his  early  and  delightful 
walk  to  his  studio.  He  went  swinging  along  through  the 
Park  and  out  into  Albert  Road,  quite  in  the  spirit  of  the 
time.  He  recalled  in  a  dreamy  fashion,  that  was,  however, 
somewhat  out  of  harinony  with  it,  every  word  and  every 
look  of  the  mysterious  beautiful  woman  of  Mrs.  Chetwynd's 
reception.  He  saw  her  eyes  looking  into  his  with  tender 
interest,  he  heard  her  say  she  might  be  his  friend.  The 
soft  tone  of  her  voice  when  she  said  she  was  interested 
in  him  came  back  to  him.  He  comprehended  in  one  long 
reflection  the  memory  of  her  lovely  form,  her  red-gold 
hair,  her  becoming  dress,  her  distinguished  manner,  the 
fascinating  melancholy  of  her  face  when  it  was  in  repose, 
the  depth  of  her  eloquent  eyes  when  she  turned  their  violet 
light  upon  his.  He  might  have  been  walking  on  air  every 
now  then,  so  unconscious  was  he  of  his  surroundings, 
and  yet  he  found  the  influence  of  the  buds  and  blossoms, 
the  wooing  breeze,  the  perfume  of  flowers,  and  the  drowsy 
plash  of  the  first  water  cart  of  the  season,  that  laid  the 
dust  after  the  firsl  swallow  had  skimmed  along  the  road, 
not  in  very  wanconness  of  the  gaiety  and  pleasures  of  life, 
as  the  poets  thin'/,  but  as  earnestly  bent  upon  the  practical 
sustenance  thereof  as  the  blackbirds  in  the  park. 

The  aspiring  artist  did  not  pause  to  ask  himself  what 
sort  of  absorbed  interest  this  was  he  was  taking  in  the 
Countess  Stravensky  :  whether  it  was  the  absorption  of  the 
painter  in  a  great  subject,  or  the  pulsations  of  the  romantic 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  169 

passion  of  an  impulsive  young  man.  It  was  quite  certain 
that  for  the  time  being  the  beautiful  foreign  lady  had 
occupied  a  place  in  his  thoughts  which  should  have  been 
alone  occupied  by  Dolly  Norcolt,  to  whom  only  two  days 
before  he  had  become  engaged. 

This  fact  was  recalled  to  him  by  the  Countess  Stravensky 
herself  within  an  hour  of  the  time  when  he  was  walking  more 
or  less  on  air,  as  we  have  seen,  to  his  studio  beyond  Prim- 
rose Hill,  for  the  condescending  mode,  arrived  punctually 
to  the  time  which  she  had  fixed  with  Philip's  mother  on  the 
preceding  night.  He  had  had  the  place  specially  prepared 
to  receive  her,  and  she  had  come  quietly  attired,  as  if  in 
sympathy  with  his  subject. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  when  she  passed  through  the  por- 
ter's gate.  Her  single  brougham  stood  outside  with  one 
servant  on  the  box.  On  the  pavement  was  a  gentleman  in 
waiting — a  foreigner  who  strolled  about  the  neighborhood 
enjoying  the  fresh  spring  morning,  and  a  cigar  strong 
enough  to  have  thrown  an  ordinary  smoker  into  a  narcotic 
fever. 

Philip  received  his  visitor  with  a  calm  sense  of  triumph. 
She  wore  a  grey  soft  cape,  which  she  laid  aside  almost  as 
soon  as  she  entered  the  studio. 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  come,"  said  Philip,  not  at- 
tempting to  disguise  his  pleasure. 

"  Kind  of  you  to  ask  me  to  do  so — and  Mr.  Chetwynd 
made  such  a  point  of  it ! "  she  said,  with  her  fascinating 
foreign  accent.  *'  What  a  charming  hostess — Mrs.  Chet- 
wynd !  Sorry  I  could  not  remain  as  long  as  I  could  have 
wished;  but  there  was  a  prior  engagement,  which  duty 
required  I  should  observe,  at  the  Russian  Embassy ;  it 
was  a  ball,  and  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  arrriving  for  the 
the  little  supper,  as  they  so  call  it,  and  I  was  escorted  by 
one  of  your  great  ministers  ;  a  friend,  so  he  said,  of  Russia. 
Ah,  thank  you,  they  are  lovely  I " 


170  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

This  in  response  to  a  bouquet  of  lilies  of  the  valley  which 
Philip  offered  to  his  visitor,  as  he  invited  her  to  take  a 
seat  upon  the  sitter's  platform. 

"  You  are  business-like,  you  do  not  forget  that  my  time 
is  much  occupied ;  but  I  am  to  sit  in  character,  is  it  not 
so?" 

He  thought  her  voice  wonderfully  sweet,  her  foreign 
accent  giving  to  the  tone  of  it  an  added  charm. 

"  I  wish  I  had  designed  for  you  a  subject  in  which  the 
study  should  have  been  one  of  beauty  and  happiness 
instead  of  beauty  in  misery  and  despair.  But  may  I  not 
first  sketch  you  as  you  are  ?  " 

Whether  it  was  that  the  countess  desired  to  check  the 
exuberance  of  Philip's  frank  admiration  of  her,  or  that  the 
question  arose  out  of  a  real  interest  in  his  welfare,  she 
suddenly  forced  him  back  upon  the  duty  he  owed  to  Dolly 
Norcott. 

"  Your  mother  tells  me  you  are  engaged  to  be  married." 

"  Indeed  1 "  he  said. 

"  And  when  are  you  to  be  married?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  he  said. 

*'  The  happy  day — have  you  not  already  marked  it  with 
white  in  your  calendar  of  bliss  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  said,  busy  with  his  brushes  and  his  easel. 

"You  do  not  care  to  talk  about  the  betrothal.  Is  it  so?" 

"  I  care  most  to  hear  you  talk,"  he  replied,  his  dark 
eyes  turning  towards  her. 

"  That  is  a  trick  of  the  painter,  eh  ?  He  thus  will  get 
the  expression  of  his  sitter's  face.  Well,  it  depends  what 
the  expression  is  to  be.  But  am  I  not  to  see  what  you 
have  already  desired  it  should  be  ?  Mr.  Chetwynd  was 
concerned  with  the  thought  that  I  might  be  displeased  at 
your  painted  opinion  -of  the  miseries  inflicted  by  my 
country  on  the  exile  and  the  prisoner  1  Not  at  all.  That 
I  sympathize  with  you  in  this,  brings  me  here*" 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  17I 

*'  Mr.  Chetwynd,"  Philip  replied,  "  overrates  my  sketch, 
but  since  your  ladyship  wishes  to  see  it,  it  is  here." 

He  wheeled  towards  her  chair  an  easel  upon  which  he 
lifted  the  sketch  we  have  already  seen.  He  did  so  in  a 
somewhat  perfunctory  manner,  for  he  had  found  some  of 
his  enthusiasm  for  the  countess  evaporate  at  her  mention 
of  his  engagement.  Not  that  it  had  set  him  thinking  more 
of  Dolly,  as  a  lover  should,  but  it  had  appeared  in  his 
mental  groping  to  have  projected  a  shadow  between  him 
and  the  delirious  pleasure  of  having  the  countess  all 
alone  to  paint,  and  at  the  same  time  to  study — to  worship 
perhaps — for  he  had  encouraged  an  indefinite  kind  of  anti- 
cipation in  regard  to  this  visit  in  which  art  was  not  the 
only  factor,  and  almost  the  first  words  of  his  sitter  appeared 
to  him  to  have  set  up  a  barrier  against  the  romance  of  it. 

The  countess  rose  from  her  seat,  stepped  down  from 
the  platform,  and  gazed  at  the  medal  sketch.  The  light  fell 
effectively  upon  picture  and  reality.  Philip  noted  the  fair, 
round  figure  of  the  woman,  simply  clad  in  a  pale  silk  gown 
draped  to  her  figure,  her  red-gold  hair  dressed  high  as  on 
the  night  before,  her  bonnet  designed  as  if  to  set  off  rather 
than  hide  it,  her  pale  face,  with  the  dark  lashes  of  her  eyes 
shadowed  upon  her  cheeks,  her  entire  appearance  singu- 
larly graceful  and  queenlike. 

**  And  you  think  his  woman  like  me  !  "  she  said,  after 
standing  before  the  picture  as  it  seemed  to  Philip  for  quite 
five  minutes. 

"  Chetwynd  thought  it  like  you." 

"Chetwynd  did  ?  "  she  said,  still  lookinr*  ''  the  sketch. 

"  Indeed  he  recognized  you  from  this  c'  jy  description 
of  you." 

"Not  clumsy  but  remarkable,"  she  replied.  "You 
painted  it  after  seeing  me  at  the  opera  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  What  if  I  have  not  been  at  the  opera  ?  " 


1 7*  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

"  Then  I  have  dreamed  it,"  said  Philip. 

<'  It  reminds  me  of  a  girl  I  once  knew  years  ago,"  she 
said. 

"  I  did  not  wish  to  show  it  you  :  I  felt  it  was  a  libel  on 
you." 

"It  is  beautiful,"  she  replied,  now  looking  at  him,  and 
with  a  sad  expression  in  her  eyes. 

'*  It  shall  be,  if  you  give  me  the  opportunity  to  study 
the  original." 

*'  I  suppose  you  have  in  your  mind  a  story  for  your  pic- 
ture.    It  is  called  Tragedy,  your  mother  tells  me." 

Philip  wished  that  his  mother  had  not  said  so  much  to  the 
countess  ;  but  he  only  replied  that  it  was  the  subject  for 
the  Academy  gold  medal. 

"  And  in  your  mind  the  tragedy  is  the  situation  of  that 
young  man  who  is  to  die  in  the  arms  of  the  woman — in 
mine,  eh,  Mr.  Forsyth  ?  I  am  to  be  the  poor  creature  who 
extends  her  arms  with  all  her  good  kind  suffering  heart  in 
her  pale  face  to  the  poor  dying  student — is  that  so?  " 

"  And  the  general  group  ;  the  old  man  is  an  incident  of 
the  tragedy.  The  spirit  of  the  subject  also  lies  not  alone 
in  the  fact  pourtrayed,  but  the  idea  of  the  road  to  Siberia." 

**  Yes,  yes — do  not  be  afraid  to  say  all  you  may  think 
or  feel  of  that,  the  most  enormous  of  all  tragedies  it  is  true ; 
but  there  is  worse  than  Siberia — there  are  perils  worse  than 
the  road  to  it  and  the  arrival.  Perhaps  in  your  picture  the 
young  man  is  her  lover ;  ah,  my  friend,  to  have  been  his 
companion  in  exile  would  have  been  bliss  to  that  young 
girl  whom  the  face  recalls  to  me  ;  her  love  was  so  great 
Siberia  would  have  been  heaven  with  him.  Do  you  ever 
think  of  all  the  horrors  of  the  Inferno  of  Dante  ?  They 
are  as  nothing  compared  with  the  fate  of  that  young  girl 
whom  I  knew  in  a  Russian  village  long  ago.  But,  my  dear 
Philip,  why  ask  me,  who  am  rich  and  happy  and  of  the 
noblesse,  to  sit  for  this  poor  mad  creature  ?  " 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  173 

Philip's  heart  stood  still  for  a  moment  when  she  called 
him  her  '  dear  Philip/  and  then  began  to  beat  fast  and 
furious. 

"  That  is  why  I  did  not  wish  you  to  see  it,"  he  said,  his 
face  aflame,  his  tongue  running  on  at  a  rapid  rate.  **  You, 
who  are  so  beautiful ;  you  who  hould  rather  sit  for  a 
Queen  of  Beauty — a  goddess  men  to   worship  and 

women  to  admire — for  Arthur's  Queen,  or  Cleopatra.  And 
in  that  there  would  also  be  tragedy,  but  the  tragedy  of  the 
poet,  not  the  vulgar  tragedy  of  a  troop  of  prisoners.  Let 
me  bloifthe  libel  out." 

He  advanced  towards  the  sketch,  as  if  he  would  have 
carried  out  his  suggested  threat.  She  laid  her  hand  upon 
his  arm,  and  he  thrilled  at  the  touch. 

"  Not  so,  dear  friend,"  she  said ;  "  it  is  a  compliment 
to  me  that  you  can  think  of  me  as  pathetically  as  that," 
and  she  pointed  to  the  picture.  "  Ah  !  if  you  only  knew ! 
And  she  was  beautiful,  that  girl  I  am  thinking  about ;  but 
Siberia  was  too  good  for  her ;  she  was  of  the  cursed  race 
of  the  Jew,  and  they  called  her  Queen  of  the  Ghetto  in  the 
place  where  she  lived  in  innocence,  and  was  engaged  as 
you  are,  and  more,  with  the  day  fixed  for  the  wedding,  and 
the  year  of  betrothal  at  an  end  ;  and  she,  be  sure,  marked 
it  in  the  calendar,  and  he  her  betrothed.  You  are  in  the 
right — it  is  tragic,  this  picture  of  yours  !  It  has  also  enough 
of  sorrow  in  that  one  incident  of  the  woman  or  her  lover  to 
call  it  tragedy — and  perhaps  the  old  man  might  be  her 
father,  eh  ?     Was  that  in  your  thought  ?  " 

While  she  spoke  she  removed  her  bonnet,  and  drew  her 
hair  about  her  head  as  suggested  in  the  picture,  as  Philip 
had  seen  it  at  the  Opera,  and  she  took  her  seat,  and  he 
followed  her,  palette  in  hand. 

"  There,  my  friend,  go  on  with  your  study ;  it  is  not  the 
first  of  the  times  I  have  sat  for  the  artist.  I  can  make  that 
expression,  perhaps,  for  you ;  I  try  to  look  back  to  the 
poor  girl  I  tell  you  of.    There  I " 


1^4  SY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

The  mouth  fell  into  an  expression  of  despair,  and  the 
eyes  looked  up  with  a  *;arful  idea  of  pain  in  them  ;  the  hair 
fell  around  the  pale  beautiful  features.  Philip  gazed  but 
did  not  paint. 

"  Why  do  you  pause  ? — will  you  not  have  me  for  your 
model  ?    Do.  I  not  act  well  ?  " 

Then  she  arose  from  the  crouching  attitude  she  had 
assumed  and  laughed  almost  hysterically. 

**  You  cannot  realize  that  I  who  am  so  gay  and  rich  and 
so  high-born  should  act  such  a  part  as  the  miserable  wo- 
man of  the  prison — the  lash  perhaps.  Well,  you  are  right — 
do  not  alter  the  picture  ;  it  has  all  the  spirit  of  the  misery 
of  persecution — outrage,  the  rod,  the  lash  ;  you  have  felt 
it  in  your  heart  j  I  am  glad  I  have  seen  what  you  feel ; 
but  go  seek  the  wretched,  not  the  happy  such  as  I  for  your 
model  1" 

She  was  putting  on  her  bonnet. 

"  But  you  are  not  going  ?  "  exclaimed  the  artist. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  she  said  j  '*  you  will  not  paint  me.  You 
do  not  think  I  can  be  of  use  in  your  picture  !  " 

"  Forgive  me, "  he  said,  "  you  have  perplexed  me ;  I 
was  not  prepared  for  so  wonderful  a  realization  of  the 
woman  I  saw  at  the  Opera — the  face  I  have  tried  to 
paint." 

"  Some  other  day,  then,"  she  said,  "  when  we  are  both 
less  embarrassed.  I  have  other  engagements — a  luncheon, 
dinner,  a  dance — and  I  must  get  up  my  Society  spirits,  eh  ? 
It  is  not  for  me  to  think  of  such  sorrowful  things." 

She  comprehended  in  a  long  sweeping  action  of  her  arm 
Philip's  entire  sketch. 

"  You  are  angry  with  me,"  said  Philip. 

"  No,  no,"  she  said,  "  I  am  never  angry ;  despair  is  not 
anger ;  revenge  is  not  anger ;  longing  is  not  anger.  Ah  ! 
I  see  I  bewilder  you  !  Thank  you." 

She  had  pointed  to  her  cape  ;  Philip  assisted  her  to  put 
it  on. 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  175 

'f  You  have  excited  into  action  some  old  memories,"  she 
said,  "  and  you  have  a  strange  resemblance  to  that  poor 
girl's  lover ;  he  had  marked  the  day  as  I  tell  you  with  a 
white  stone,  and  its  sun  set  in  blood  ;  you  are  not  so  en- 
grossed with  the  betrothal  of  your  love.  It  is  well  j  I 
admire  your  English  sangfroid ;  it  is  the  reason  why  you 
are  great ;  you  can  look  love  and  destiny,  victory  and 
defeat,  heaven  and  hell  in  the  eye  straight,  and  you  do  not 
flinch.     Indeed  you  are  a  great  people  !  " 

*'  Ah  !  madame,  for  some  reason  you  mock  me,"  said 
Philip.  "  I  have  offended  you  ;  if  I  dared  say  all  I  think 
and  feel  about  you — the  admiration  you  have  inspired  in 
me,  the  ambition  that  lies  beyond  that  mere  daub  you  have 
been  good  enough  to  praise,  that  boyish  fancy,  the  weakness 
of  which  since  last  night  I  see  with  the  eyes  of  a  man  !" 

"  Another  day,"  she  said,  interrupting.  "  Please  ring 
for  my  carriage  ;  and  believe  what  I  say  when  I  tell  you  I 
am  not  angry ;  that  I  feel  all  you  say  deep  in  my  heart ; 
that  you  have  awakened  there  sensations  that  have  been 
dead  for  years ;  and  if  we  do  not  meet  again,  let  me  beg  of 
you  to  finish  that  picture ;  it  will  bring  you  fame  ;  I  com- 
mission it ;  paint  it  for  me  ;  it  shall  have  the  first  place  in 
my  gallery ;  it  shall  have  a  home  in  my  heart."  She  turned 
as  if  to  go ;  then  with  her  eyes  full  upon  him,  she  said, 
quickly  :  "  In  my  country  there  is  the  kiss  of  friendship 
and  there  is  the  kiss  of  peace ;  I  give  to  you  that  salute, 
and  with  me  it  is  the  kiss  of  a  sweet  memory  that  lasted 
for  a  moment,  to  be  lost  in  the  shadow  of  a  tragedy  more 
terrible  than  that  you  have  dreamed  of  in  your  art  and  in 
your  tender  sympathies  with  the  persecuted  and  distressed. 
Adieu ! " 

She  kissed  him  on  both  cheeks  and  was  gone  out  at  the 
open  door  before  he  could  attend  her.  While  the  wheels 
of  her  brougham  rattled  out  at  the  portal  of  the  court-yard 
he  stood  in  a  heat  of  strange  delightful  surprise,  looking 


176  BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

amazed  and  bewildered  at  the  open  doorway  where  the 
sun  came  streaming  in  like  a  benediction. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

DOLLY  IS  DETERMINED  TO  BE  HAPPY. 

Philip  had  not  seen  Dolly  since  he  had  asked  her  to  be 
his  wife :  it  seemed  an  age — it  was  only  two  days  ago. 
What  an  eventful  two  days  !  To  Dolly  they  had  seemed 
also  a  long  time,  but  somewhat  uneventful,  Mrs.  Milbanke 
had  not  refrained  from  remarking  that  it  was  odd  Philip 
had  not  called  the  next  day  ;  and  on  this  morning  of  the 
countess'  visit  to  Philip's  studio,  she  had  expressed  some 
wonder  as  to  Philip's  health. 

"  He  must  be  ill,  my  darling,"  said  Jenny  at  breakfast, 
after  Walter  had  started  for  the  city.  *'  It  is  Lady  For- 
syth's day,  I  will  call ;  you  shall  not  go  ;  I  will  go  alone  ; 
if  he  is  ill  we  ought  to  have  had  the  fact  made  known  to 
us  j  if  he  is  well  his  conduct  must  be  explained.  When  I 
was  engaged  to  Walter  every  day  that  I  did  not  see  him  I 
had  a  letter  from  him." 

"  He  must  be  ill,"  said  Dolly,  taking  up  one  of  the  last 
remaining  strawberries  that  had  come  up  from  Walter's 
place  in  Gloucestershire.  "  Poor  Sam  would  have  been 
here  every  five  minutes  if  he  had  been  allowed." 

"  You  must  not  think  what  Sam  would  have  done,"  said 
Jenny.  "  It  is  not  proper,  and  it  is  not  wise.  Why,  I 
declare  it  is  twelve  o'clock  !  Walter  is  later  for  the  city 
every  morning." 

"  It  is  all  owing  to  my  engagement,"  said  Dolly ;  "  be- 
fore it  was  settled  he  talked  of  nothing  else,  now  it  is  set- 
tled he  finds  it  an  equally  absorbing  topic,  and  one  would 
think  our  trip  to  Venice  was  my  honeymoon,  he  makes  so 
much  of  it." 


BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  ifi 

"  He  is  a  dear,  good  fellow,"  Jenny  replied  :  **  lives  for 
everybody  except  himself,  more  particularly  for  you  and 
me,  Dolly.  You  must  not  think  to  get  as  good  and  de- 
voted a  husband  as  Walter,  but  Philip  Forsyth  is  far 
cleverer,  and  he  is  famous,  or  will  be,  and  one  day  you  will 
be  Mrs.  Forsyth,  R.A.,  and  perhaps  Lady  Forsyth — who 
knows  ?  There  is  no  end  to  the  possible  triumphs  of  the 
wife  of  a  great  artist — and  Philip  will  be  great,  Mr.  Chet- 
wynd  says  so  ;  and  there  is  no  more  severe  critic  and 
perhaps  none  so  influential — he  is  said  to  have  been  the 
critical  godfather  of  Burne  Jones  and  Watts  and  Albert 
Moore,  and  several  others." 

"  But,  my  dear.  Watts  is  old  enough  to  be  hi?  ^ather." 

"  I  can't  help  that,"  Jenny  replied,  fastening  a  sprig  of 
white  lilac  in  the  bosom  of  her  dress — the  white  lilac  from 
Walter's  place  in  the  country,  a  bunch  of  which  had 
adorned  the  breakfast  table,  making  a  sort  of  little  bower 
for  the  nest  of  plover's  eggs  which  had  formed  part  of  the 
menu. 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  to  be  very  unhappy,"  Dolly  re- 
marked as  her  sister  rose  to  leave  the  table,  "  and  yet  I  am 
not." 

"  You  don't  feel  things  as  I  did,"  said  Jenny  j  "  we  live 
in  a  more  practical  age,  I  suppose." 

"Indeed,  since  when?"  asked  Dolly.  "You  are  not 
old  enough  to  be  my  mother,  if  Watts  is  old  enough  to  be 
Chetwynd's  father  ;  and  sometimes  I  could  almost  imagine 
you  to  be  my  younger  sister." 

"Then  you  don't  love  Philip  as  I  loved  Walter?  " 

"  I  don't  know  how  much  you  loved  Walter." 

"Then  you  are  not  a  person  of  much  observation,"  said 
Jenny. 

"  I  suppose  one  loves  a  man  according  to  how  much  he 
loves  us.  You  seem  to  think  Philip  has  neglected  me 
already." 

12 


178  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

"  No,  I  do  not ;  I  think  he  is  ill ;  and  if  you  had  been 
me,  and  Philip  had  been  Walter,  I  should  have  been  so 
certain  of  it  that  I  should  have  made  immediate  inquiries, 
in  person  or  by  telegram  or  both.  And,  what  puzzles  me, 
is  that  you  take  it  all  as  quietly  as  if  you  had  been 
married  five  years,  and  one  day  your  husband  had  not 
c  me  home  to  dinner,  and  had  not  sent  you  word  that  he 
was  detained." 

"  I  suppose  it  was  such  a  strain  upon  me  to  get  him 
to  propose  that  the  reaction  has  left  me  limp  and  played 
out,  as  Vhat  American  lady  said  the  other  day." 

"  She  said  •  wilted,'  my  dear,"  Jenny  rejoined  ;  "but  I 
am  sorry  to  hear  you  speak  as  if  you  had  given  Mr.  For- 
syth positive  encouragement  to  propose." 

"  Now  don't  be  a  hypocrite,  Jenny ;  you  know  I  did, 
and  that  it  was  in  its  way  quite  a  little  conspiracy  on  all 
our  parts,  and  that  Walter  was  in  it  as  bad  as  any  of  us, 
the  darling." 

"  Dolly  ! "  said  Jenny  reprovingly,  but  at  the  same  time 
linking  her  arm  within  her  sister's  and  leading  her  into 
the  morning  room  where  they  generally  amused  them- 
selves with  needlework  and  novels,  mostly  novels.  "  You 
are  trying  to  be  cynical  because  you  feel  annoyed  with 
Philip  ;  I  know  you  are  ;  as  if  it  was  necessary  for  you  to 
try  and  force  his  hand  ! " 

"  It  might  not  have  been  necessapy,"  said  Dolly,  **  but 
we  did  it." 

"  Oh,  Dolly,  you  are  in  a  wicked  temper." 

"  Not  at  all.  I  know  that  what  you  did  was  out  of 
your  great  love  for  me,  and  that  Walter  had  no  other 
object ;  and  I  will  not  deny  that  Philip  seemed  to  like  it, 
that  he  was  very  devoted  and  very  eloquent,  and  that  he 
proposed  to  me  with  fervent  empressemeni ;  but  for  all 
that  we  had  prepared  the  little  trap  for  him,  had  we  not, 
dear?" 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  l^^ 

"  Not  more  than  it  has  to  be  prepared  for  all  of  them, 
the  awkward  creatures  ;  they  must  have  assistance.  But 
one  does  not  prepare  the  way  for  unwilling  lovers  1  Philip 
loves  you,  are  you  not  sure  of  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Dolly ;  "  he  thinks  I  have  beautiful  eyes 
and  a  fine  complexion  and  a  good  temper,  and  that  I  dress 
well  and  have  an  independent  fortune,  and  all  that ! " 

'*  And  all  that  ?  "  exclaimed  Jenny,  "  and  much  more. 
What  silly  novel  have  you  been  reading  lately  ?  " 

"  Only  the  novel  we  really  see  about  us  all  the  time — the 
novel  that  nobody  writes — the  reality  of  London  society 
and  London  life — the  truth  of  every  day.  I  don't  mind, 
Jenny,  I  take  it  all  as  it  is ;  but  when  you  and  I  are  alone, 
dear,  don't  expect  me  to  pretend,  as  I  do  when  Walter  is 
with  us  or  anybody  else." 

"  Walter  ?  Dolly  I  Do  you  mean  to  say  I  deceive 
Walter?" 

"  Deceive  him  ?  No,  my  darling,  not  more  than  he 
knows  you  do  ;  we  all  deceive  each  other ;  it  is  necessary 
to  our  happiness  more  or  less.  But  you  and  me,  Jenny, 
we  are  generally  perfectly  frank  ;  we  have  no  twc  natures 
to  keep  separated  for  each  other.  I  love  Philip  and  he 
loves  me,  but  not  in  that  ecstatic  devoted  Romeo  and 
Juliet  fashion  that  you  have  been  trying  to  think  of  for  me 
in  a  sentimental  moment." 

"  Oh,  Dolly,  you  are  growing  worldly — I  am  sure  you 
are.     I  would  not  have  believed  it  if  you  had  not  told  me ! " 

"  I  have  not  told  you  anything  of  the  kind.  I  am  not 
growing  anything  different  from  what  I  have  ever  been,  but 
I  do  not  try  to  persuade  myself  that  I  am  different ,  and  I 
am  not  going  to  make  out  that  I  am  breaking  my  heart 
because  Mr.  Forsyth  has  not  called  or  written  or  done 
something  that  is  usual  with  young  men  when  they  ask 
young  women  to  marry  them.  I  like  Philip  well  enough, 
I  quite  appreciate  all  you  say  about  the  possibilities  of  the 


Ilo  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

future,  but,  as  the  song  says,  if  he  does  not  care  for  me 
what  care  I  how  fair  he  be." 

"  In  the  first  place  the  song  does  not  say  anything  of 
the  kind,"  Jenny  replied,  "  and  in  the  next  place  please  to 
remember  that  you  are  engaged  to  be  his  wife,  and  that  all 
London  knows  it — that  is,  all  that  part  of  London  that  we 
care  anything  about." 

"  My  dearest  sis,  it  is  of  no  good  your  lecturing  me.  I 
was  born  under  a  merry  star,  and  nothing  is  going  to  make 
me  sad." 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that,  dear ;  it  is  like  a  challenge  to 
Heaven  ! " 

"  I  was  going  to  say  nothing  was  going  to  make  me  sad 
except  old  age,"  went  on  Dolly,  defiantly.  '*  I  mean  to 
enjoy  my  life,  and  I  am  sure  Heaven  does  not  desire  any 
of  us  to  do  otherwise  so  long  as  we  fulfil  our  duties,  visit 
the  poor,  go  regularly  to  church,  bear  no  malice,  and  covet 
no  man's  goods,  neither  his  ox,  nor  his  ass,  nor  anything 
that  is  his." 

Jenny  had  never  seen  Dolly  in  so  curious  a  mood,  and 
did  not  quite  know  what  to  make  of  it. 

*'  I  mean  to  enjoy  my  life,"  her  sister  continued,  "  and 
if  Philip  Forsyth  likes  to  enjoy  it  with  me  he  is  welcome. 
I  have  accepted  his  proposal  of  partnership,  but  if  he  is 
going  to  be  stiff  about  it,  and  formal,  neglectful,  proud,  or 
grumpy,  I  can't  help  it ;  he  will  find  he  is  not  going  to 
make  me  unhappy — at  all  events  without  a  ^.truggle  on  my 
part  to  be  happy." 

"  A  struggle,  dear  1 "  said  Jenny.  "  Happiness  is  not 
obtained  by  struggling ;  it  comes  of  itself,  free  and  bright 
like  a  summer  morning  ;  you  don't  get  it  by  fighting  and 
wrangling.  I  do  not  understand  you  to-day,  unless  it  is 
that  you  are  really  troubling  about  Philip  ;  that  you  care 
for  him  a  great  deal  more  than  you  would  for  some  strange 
reason  have  me  believe," 


Sy  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  iSl 

♦*  Jenny,  let  us  drop  the  subject." 

"  I  will  not,  Dolly.  I  know  exactly  what  you  feel,  and 
what  distresses  me  is  that  you  should  try  to  conceal  it 
from  me." 

"  Then,  dearest,  if  you  know  all  you  say,  why  not  act 
upon  it,  without  making  all  this  fuss  ?  " 

"  Fuss  !  "  exclaimed  Jenny.  "  With  all  your  determi- 
nation to  be  happy  whatever  may  occur,  Dolly,  it  will  be 
a  sad  day  for  both  of  us  that  casts  a  shadow  upon  my  love 
for  you  and  your  love  for  me  ! " 

Jenny's  voice  had  tears  in  it  j  and  Dolly  could  fight  no 
longer.  She  flung  herself  sobbing  into  her  sister's  arms ; 
which  Jenny  afterwards  explained  to  Walter,  fully  endorsed 
all  she  (Jenny)  had  said  about  the  serious  character  of  the 
situation  between  Dolly  and  Philip — a  situation  which  was 
more  or  less  modified,  soon  after  this  unusual  scene  between 
the  sisters,  by  a  call  from  Philip  himself. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

DOLLY  AND   DUTY. 

The  candidate  for  the  Academy's  Gold  Medal,  and  the 
afllianced  of  Dolly  Norcott,  was  received  by  Mrs.  Mil- 
banke  in  her  afternoon  warpaint,  just  ready  to  go  out,  her 
brougham  at  the  door,  in  her  hand  one  of  those  formidably 
mouated  parasols  that  an  American  satirist  had  named 
"  the  husband  queller."  It  was  a  Paris  purchase  by  Walter, 
the  handle  of  solid  gold,  with  a  jewelled  rim  that  suggested 
some  regal  symbol  of  high  office,  or  at  least  a  civic  mace ; 
a  detail  to  be  noted  as  one  glances  back  a  season  or  two 
upon  tall  hats,  dress-improvers,  and  other  inventions  of 
Fashion.  Mrs.  Milbanke  herself  must  have  had  in  her  mind 
the  ostentatious  importance  of  that  formidable  parasol ; 
for  she  told  Walter  that  when  Philip  was  announced  she  felt 


iSs  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

like  a  warrior  of  old  in  full  armor,  and  with  a  glove  in  his 
casque,  ready  for  anything  or  anybody,  but  more  particu- 
larly Mr.  Philip  Forsyth. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Milbanke,"  said  Philip,  "  I  called  to 
see  if  I  might  have  the  pleasure  of  taking  you  and  Dolly " 
(yes,  he  called  her  Dolly)  "  to  my  mother's  Afternoon." 

"  You  might,"  said  Mrs.  Milbajike^  her  bonnet  on,  her 
golden  sceptre  in  her  hand,  "  and  you  might  not :  I  really 
cannot  say ;  we  thought  you  had  forgotten  that  there  was 
such  a  place  as  Westbury  Lodge  ;  at  breakfast  this  morning, 
Walter  wondered  whether  you  had  been  called  abroad.** 

Mrs.  Milbanke's  brown  cheeks  glowed  with  suppressed 
anger. 

"  I  hoped  to  have  called  yesterday,"  said  Philip,  looking 
at  his  boots. 

"  It  is  two  days  since  my  sister  accepted  your  proposals, 
the  most  momentous  occasion  of  both  your  lives ;  for  two 
days  she  has  neither  seen  you  nor  heard  from  you ;  and 
to-day  you  call  as  if  nothing  had  happened ;  what  is  the 
meaning  of  it,  Mr.  Forsyth?  What  are  we  to  understand 
by  it  ?  My  sister  is  positively  ill  with  vexation  or  anxiety, 
I  really  do  not  know  which." 

"  I  am  awfully  sorry,"  said  Philip,  "  the  truth  is  I  have 
been  unusually  busy ;  I  went  to  Mrs.  Chetw)md*s  At  Home 
last  night — more  on  business  than  for  any  other  purpose ; 
Chetwynd  came  and  fetched  me  away  from  the  studio ; 
and  I  hoped  to  have  seen  you  at  Dorset-square — you  and 
your  sister." 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  should  have  expected  either  of 
us  j  we  do  not  know  Mrs.  Chetwynd ;  we  have  met  her 
once  or  twice  it  is  true ;  and  we  know  Chetwynd,  a 
very  pleasant  sort  of  person ;  but  we  do  not  visit  Mrs. 
Chetwynd." 

Mrs.  Milbanke  had  made  up  her  mind  to  be  calm,  if 
spiteful,  the  moment  Philip  was  announced ;  but  she  found 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  its 

it  impossible  to  control  herself.  Her  tongue  wagged  at  a 
tremendous  rate.  "  Moreover,"  she  continued,  "  if  you 
had  any  wish  or  any  curiosity  about  it,  you  could  have 
asked  us  if  we  were  going  to  the  Chetwynds.  A  young 
man  does  not  get  engaged  every  day ;  it  is  an  incident, 
at  all  events,  in  a  young  girl's  life  which  is  more  than 
ordinary;  but " 

"  Really,  Mrs.  Milbanke,  I  don't  think  I  have  deserved 
to  be  so  severely  lectured;  and  without  a  hearing,"  said 
Philip,  interrupting  Dolly's  sister  in  her  mad  career  of 
rebuke.  "  I  was  going  to  explain  that  I  have  been  un- 
usually busy ;  you  know  of  what  importance  it  is  to  me 
that  I  should  lay  in  that  medal  picture  before  I  go  to 
Venice ;  and  I  met  the  lady  at  Mrs.  Chetwynd's  whom  I 
wanted  to  sit  for  the  central  figure ;  she  kindly  consented 
to  give  me  a  sitting  this  morning;  she  came,  and  the 
moment  she  left  I  drove  here." 

"What  lady?"  said  Mrs.  Milbanke. 

And  then  Philip  remembered  that  the  entire  story  of 
the  mysterious  lady  of  the  opera  was  between  himself  and 
Chetwynd — and  of  course  Chetwynd's  wife.  You  tell  a 
man  something  he  is  not  to  repeat  to  anyone,  not  even  to 
his  wife;  he  gives  you  his  word,  and  keeps  it,  no  dcdbt, 
as  a  rule,  except  in  regard  to  the  pledge  not  to  tell  his 
wife.  Philip  did  not  quite  know  why  he  had  not  told  the 
story  to  his  dear  friends  the  Milbankes.  Perhaps  he  had 
not  had  time  ;  perhaps  he  thought  Mrs.  Milbanke  would 
talk  too  much  about  it.  He  had  it  in  his  mind  to  tell 
Dolly  on  the  night  when  he  proposed  to  her,  but  for  some 
reason  or  other  he  did  not. 

"  The  lady  whom  I  thought  I  saw  at  the  opera,"  Philip 
replied,  "  and  whose  face  gave  me  the  idea  for  the  sketch 
of 'Tragedy.'    Did  I  not  tell  you ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Milbanke,  pursing  up  her  little  mouth 
and  waiting  for  further  explanation. 


l84  ^y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

"  Well,  there  was  not  much  to  tell.  I  saw  a  remarkable 
face  at  the  opera ;  it  gave  me  an  idea  for  the  picture. 
Chetwynd  found  the  original.  She  was  at  his  wife's  At 
Home.     She  consented  to  give  me  a  sitting." 

"Yes?"  said  Mrs.  Milbanke,  "and  so  you  could  not 
come  and  see  Dolly ;  nor  send  a  telegram  nor  a  letter, 
nor  a  bouquet,  nor  anything ;  and  have  we  the  pleasure 
of  knowing  the  lady  ?  " 

"  I  think  not.  She  is  a  Russian  countess — Lady 
Stravensky." 

"  The  woman  we  met  at  Lady  Marchmount's — that  was 
the  name  ;  I  mentioned  her  to  you  the  day  we  met  at  the 
studio ;  the  foreign  woman  who  smoked  cigarettes,  an  ad- 
venturess I  should  imagine." 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Philip,  "  but  whatever  she  is, 
her  face  is  a  wonderful  study." 

"  No  doubt,"  said  Mrs.  Milbanke. 

"  She  is  received  at  the  Russian  Embassy." 

"And  at  Mr.  Philip  Forsyth's  studio,"  retorted  Mrs. 
Milbanke. 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  asked  Philip,  "  surely  you  do  not 
think " 

"  Don't  ask  me  what  I  think  or  I  may  tell  you  and  we 
might  both  be  sorry  afterwards ;  I  love  my  sister  Dolly, 
and  know  how  good  and  sweet  and  forgiving  and  gentle 
she  is  ;  and  it  grieves  me  to  see  her  miserable  ;  it  is  some- 
thing new,  terribly  new,  to  see  her  cry  ;  this  is  one  of  the 
happiest  households  in  the  world,  Mr.  Forsyth  :  but  yester- 
day and  to-day  we  have  been  all  of  us  positively  wretched.** 

Here  Mrs.  Milbanke  began  "  to  give  way  "  as  she  after- 
wards told  Walter,  for  Philip  did  look  so  mournfully 
apologetic  that  she  could  not  find  it  in  her  heart  to  continue 
the  attack. 

"  And  all  this  on  my  account,"  he  said,  and  it  must  be 
admitted  he  was  truly  sorry.  "  Believe  me  I  am  deeply 
grieved ;  I  hope  you  will  not  think  I  am  trying  to  make 


£y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  185 

an  excuse  when  I  say  Dolly  was  not  out  of  my  thoughts ; 
for  all  the  time  I  have  been  thinking  of  my  work  and  doing 
it,  my  ambition  was  engaged  as  much  on  her  account  as 
my  own.  And  I  was  anxious  to  make  my  arrangements 
for  our  trip  to  Venice." 

"  I  told  Dolly,"  said  Mrs.  Milbanke,  now  laying  down 
her  sceptre  and  sinking  gracefully  into  a  chair,  "  that  you 
could  not  fail  to  have  a  proper  explanation  ;  but  she  is  a 
sensitive  girl,  and  of  course  she  very  much  expected  to 
see  you  yesterday.  I  was  going  to  your  mother's  when 
you  were  announced.  If  you  will  bring  Dolly  I  will  send 
the  carriage  back  for  you." 

"  I  shall  be  delighted,"  said  Philip. 

Whereupon  Jennie  went  upstairs  to  her  sister,  who, 
much  engrossed  with  a  popular  authoress'  last  novel, 
had  for  the  time  being  forgotten  her  own  troubles  in  those 
of  a  romantic  hero,  who,  despite  his  Oriental  palace  and 
his  many  conquests  amongst  princesses  and  beauties  of 
the  purest  blood,  married  and  otherwise,  was  unhappy  on 
account  of  some  village  maiden  who  had  unconsciously 
made  a  hot  and  fierce  onslaught  upon  his  hitherto  un> 
touched  sensibilities. 

"You  must  come  down,  my  darling,"  said  Jennie, 
"  Philip  is  here,  very  contrite,  awfully  unhappy ;  he  has 
been  very  busy  on  a  work  which  he  hopes  to  finish  in 
order  to  be  able  to  get  away  with  us  next  week.  I  talked 
to  him  rather  severely,  but  I  am  sorry  now,  because  he  is 
so  sorry.  Come  down,  dear ;  I  will  go  on  to  his  mother's 
and  he  will  bring  you  ;  he  looks  very  handsome." 

Dolly  laid  aside  her  novel ;  got  up  from  her  luxurious 
little  couch,  which  was  quite  a  decoration  at  the  foot  of 
her  dainty  little  bed;  looked  at  herself  in  a  convenient 
mirror;  the  investigation  was  satisfactory,  both  to 
herself  and  to  her  sister ;  and  might  have  been  to  any 
male  connotsi^eur  of  female  beauty.     Soft,  rosy  cheeks,  a 


tW  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

wealth  of  silken  hair,  a  round  undulating  figure,  the  lovely 
lines  of  which  were  indicated  in  the  graceful  folds  of  a 
flowing  muslin  tea-gown. 

"  How  long  will  it  take  you  to  dress  ?  " 

"  Half-an-hour." 

"Then  Philip  shall  escort  me  to  Lady  Forsyth's  and 
return  for  you,  he  need  not  go  in." 

"  I  ventured  to  ask  your  mother  one  day  when  I  was  in 
an  inquisitive  mood,  why  she  insists  upon  living  in  Gower- 
street,"  said  Mrs.  Milbanke,  when  the  brougham  was 
rolling  quietly  upon  its  rubber  tires  by  the  north  side  of 
Regent's  Park,  and  making  its  way  through  the  north  gate 
and  along  by  the  Zoo,  "  one  of  the  ugliest — not  to  say  the 
most  unfashionable  of  streets." 

"  And  what  did  she  say  ?  "  Philip  asked,  anxious  to 
take  an  interest  in  any  subject  which  Mrs.  Milbanke  might 
consider  worthy  of  discussion. 

"  Because  her  house  at  a  hundred  and  fifty  a  year  was 
worth  six  of  the  Mayfair  houses  at  three  or  four  times  the 
rent,  and  because  she  had  bought  the  lease,  and  further- 
more because  she  liked  the  house,  and  furthermore  still — 
you  know  your  mother's  graphic  manner — because  a 
fashionable  neighborhood  is  not  necessary  to  a  woman 
who  can  bring  fashion  to  her  rooms  wherever  they  may 
be." 

"  My  dear  mother  has  a  great  opinion  of  her  social 
position,"  said  Philip,  "  and  the  best  people  so-called  and 
certainly  the  most  interesting  do  go  to  see  her." 

"That's  true,"  said  Mrs.  Milbanke,  "but  I  have  not 
told  you  all  she  said  ;  she  asked  me  what  I  meant  by  liv- 
ing in  St.  John's  Wood — did  I  call  that  a  fashionable  local- 
ity ?  I  said  if  it  was  good  enough  in  the  past  for  Landseer, 
George  Eliot,  Douglas  Jerrold,  Charles  Dickens,  and  in 
the  present  for  an  old  lady  friend  of  Her  Majesty's,  half- 
a-dozen  R.A.'s,  and  no  end  of  literary  men  of  the  first  mag- 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  187 

nitude,  not  to  mention  bankers  and  divines,  it  was  good 
enough  for  the  wife  of  a  mere  city  solicitor." 

And  thus,  after  sundry  discussions  of  an  equally  momen- 
tous character,  Philip  and  his  prospective  sister-in-law  drift- 
ed  into  the  very  smallest  of  small  talk,  which  was  happily 
brought  to  an  end  very  quickly,  for  Walter  Milbanke's 
horses  were  as  good  as  his  wines  and  his  dinners,  Walter 
priding  himself  on  having  everything  of  the  best. 

When  Mrs.  Milbanke  made  her  way  through  Lady 
Forsyth's  crowded  hall  to  the  drawing-room,  Philip  For- 
syth in  a  somewhat  perturbed  state  of  mind  was  driven 
back  to  Westbury  Lodge.  He  hardly  felt  master  of  him- 
self; a  strong  consciousness  of  the  claims  of  duty  took 
possession  of  him.  He  had  proposed  to  Dolly;  Dolly 
was  a  beautiful  girl,  she  might  easily  make  a  much  better 
match.  His  mother  liked  her  very  much.  Mrs.  Milbanke 
was  a  kind,  genial  woman,  devoted  to  Dolly.  Walter  Mil- 
banke was  a  good  fellow.  They  were  well-to-do,  and  they 
paid  him  much  respect.  Chetwynd  had  said  Philip 
needed  the  anchorage  of  marriage  ;  and  after  all  the  Coun- 
tess  Stravensky  was  a  strange  creature,  with  no  doubt  a 
remarkable  career.  She  went  about  in  a  queer  way  with  a 
private  secretary,  who  was  a  very  cut-throat  looking  person ; 
and  she  was  Philip's  senior  by  several  years.  He  admitted 
to  himself  that  she  exercised  a  strange  fascinatioa  over 
him ;  but  why  did  he  admit  this  ?  Why  did  he  think  about 
her  at  all  beyond  the  realm  of  art,  any  more  than  he  would 
think  of  any  other  good  subject  ?  He  asked  himself  these 
questions  in  a  desultory  kind  of  way,  and  shuddered  with  a 
pleasant  thrill  as  he  thought  of  her  kissing  him  ;  but  this 
was  followed  by  an  unpleasant  kind  of  feeling  that  there 
was  something  motherly  or  sisterly,  or  merely  friendly  in 
her  kiss  and  in  her  farewell,  nothing  suggestive  of  passion 
or  of  love  e.xcept  in  the  abstract.  She  had  said  "  Good- 
bye ; "  she  had  treated  him  as  if  he  were  a  memory,  not  a 


|8S  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR: 

living  entity.  As  he  thought  in  this  wise  his  mind  began 
to  take  a  cynical  view  of  what  had  happened ;  "  she  kissed 
me  for  someone  else,  kissed  me  because  I  reminded  her 
of  someone  she  had  known  when  a  girl,  or  that  some  other 
girl  had  known  ;  *'  Let  me  kiss  him  for  his  mother"  — the 
song  ran  through  his  brain  with  a  laugh,  as  if  the  thought 
had  been  bracketed  with  the  word  Laughter ^  as  the  re- 
porters put  it  in  their  chronicles  of  funny  speeches. 
Indeed  Philip  felt  himself  in  a  very  bewildered  state  of 
mind,  inclined  at  one  moment  to  make  fun  of  himself  and 
his  aspirations,  then  to  fall  under  the  influence  of  the  pale 
face  and  the  red-gold  hair,  and  finally  to  stretch  out  men- 
tal and  physical  arms  towards  Dolly  and  Duty.  The 
alliteration  of  the  words  struck  him,  Dolly  and  Duty,  and 
he  smiled.  He  was  mentally  intoxicated.  He  hated  him- 
self for  having  behaved  inconsiderately  to  Dolly,  who  had 
been  so  deliciously  kind  to  him  only  two  nights  previously, 
and  to  whom  he  had  pledged  a  life's  devotion.  He  felt 
that  he  had  deserved  all  that  Mrs.  Milbanke  had  said  in 
his  disparagement,  and  all  indeed  she  had  not  said,  but 
had  hinted  at ;  and  sitting  by  her  side  with  her  sensuous 
perfume  still  clinging  about  him,  the  consciousness  of  her 
pretty  dresses  and  in  her  soothingly  luxurious  atmosphere, 
and  remembering  that  Dolly  was  almost  ten  years  younger 
and  ten  times  prettier,  and  with  soft  round  arms  and  pout- 
ing red  lips,  and  hair  like  the  richest  yellow  silk,  he  tried 
to  snap  his  fingers  at  the  poetic,  intellectual,  Oriental 
beauty  of  the  strange  foreign  woman  who  for  a  few  hours 
had  threatened  to  fill  his  very  soul  with  her  violet  eyes 
and  her  stately  figure  and  her  red-gold  hair. 

It  is  quite  questionable  after  all  if  Dick  Chetwynd  was 
right  in  advising  Philip  to  get  married.  And  it  was  equally 
questionable  whether  Dolly  Norcott  was  the  woman  for 
such  an  erratic  and  unstable  nature  as  Philip's  seemed  to 
be.    Philip's  was  an  emotional  nature,  liable  to  fall  under 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  tl^ 

evanescent  influences.  He  was  imaginative,  had  mixed 
ideas  of  duty,  a  longing  ambition,  was  proud,  had  thoughts 
that  were  the  outcome  of  momentary  influences,  good 
impulses  but  a  short  memory  for  them.  He  had  one  great 
redeeming  quality — industry ;  but  for  this  he  might  have 
been  classed  among  the  geniuses  who  are  content  to  dream, 
the  geniuses  v/ho  only  lack  for  success  the  spur  of  industry. 
If  the  narrator  of  these  adventures  believed  in  the  evil  eye 
or  in  interposition  of  some  supernaturally  evil  factor  in  a 
young  man's  life,  he  would  declare  that  the  face  at  the 
Opera  had  for  Philip  the  evil  eye  under  whose  influence  he 
would  fall  and  suffer ;  but  that  is  perhaps  only  because 
one  has  to  record  what  appears  to  be  a  strange,  sudden 
change  in  the  young  man's  conduct  and  destiny  from  the 
moment  he  saw  the  face  of  the  Countess  Stravensky  at  the 
Opera ;  anyhow  it  is  certain  that  when  the  shadow  of  the 
Countess  Stravensky  fell  upon  the  life  of  Philip  Forsyth 
he  became  another  being,  and  probably  Richard  Chetwynd 
might  say  "  and  all  the  better  for  Philip  Forsyth,"  since 
the  inspiration  of  the  face  at  the  Opera  had  given  the 
young  fellow's  art  just  the  touch  of  imagination  it  heeded, 
just  the  idea  of  purpose  and  intention  which  had  made  it 
for  the  first  time  in  the  opinion  of  Chetwynd  a  tremendous 
reality  of  promise. 

As  the  brougham  glided  along  that  most  wearisome  and 
monotonous  of  all  London  thoroughfares,  Albany-street, 
Philip  recalled  what  Mrs.  Milbanke  had  said  about  the 
foreign  lady  who  smoked  cigarettes  at  Lady  Marchmount's, 
and  then  for  the  twentieth  time  he  wondered  what  could  be 
the  meaning  of  Lady  Marchmount  professing  to  ignore  the 
countess'  presence  in  her  box  on  that  memorable  night 
at  the  Opera.  For  the  twentieth  time  he  went  over  the 
whole  of  the  circumstances ;  and  for  the  twentieth  time 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  there  must  be  some  feud  be- 
tween the  countess  and  th<«  young  wife  of  the  Russian 


I90  By  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

General  Petronovitch,  whose  name  he  had  noticed  in  the 
papers  that  very  morning,  by  the  way,  as  the  representa- 
tive whom  Russia  in  a  semi-official  way  was  sending  to 
Venice,  to  be  present  at  the  fmictirn,  on' which  occasion 
Venice  was  to  put  on  some  of  her  ancient  glories,  gondolas 
of  past  centuries,  so  far  as  decoration  was  concerned,  gon- 
doliers in  all  the  glories  of  the  greatest  days  of  the  Queen 
of  the  Adriatic.  Russia  was  not  willing,  it  appeared,  to  let 
P^ngland  and  Germany  have  it  all  their  own  way  even  with 
Italy;  and  in  that  gorgeous  procession  of  boats  was  to  be 
a  barge  belonging  to  Geiicral  Petronovitch,  and  probably 
a  military  and  civic  staff.  At  least  that  is  what  the  papers 
said.  Philip  hoped  he  might  be  there  to  see  ;  and  how  could 
ne  see  the  show  in  better  company  than  that  of  Dolly  and 
her  sister  and  Walter  Milbanke,  who  knew  Venice,  and 
vould  be  sure  to  do  the  thing  as  it  should  be  done  ? 

If  Philip  had  been  confronted  with  this  mixture  of  pro- 
saic, artistic,  worldly,  and  incongruous  interpretation  of 
his  multifarious  reflections  and  thoughts  as  he  drove  from 
Gower-street  to  St.  John's  Wood,  he  would  probably 
have  denied  the  correctness  of  the  report ;  but  much  as  it 
might  have  surprised  and  perhaps  annoyed  him,  it  would 
nevertheless  have  been  perfectly  true  ;  therefore,  in  your 
estimate  of  the  character  of  Philip  Forsyth,  do  not  forget 
this  somewhat  inconsequential  record  of  his  state  of  mind 
on  this  notable  day. 


% 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  I9I 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  PATIENXE,  HOPE,  AND  PRACTICAL  PHILOSOPHY 
OF   SAM  SELWYN. 

Early  spring  sunshine  was  making  pretty  lacelike  sha- 
dows upon  the  dusty  roadway,  as  the  Milbanke  brougham 
emerged  into  the  picturesque  thoroughfare  by  the  Zoo. 
Presently  it  drew  aside  to  permit  a  royal  cavalcade  to  pass. 
Her  Majesty  was  paying  her  usual  visit  to  her  old  friend, 
mentioned  by  Mrs.  Milbanke  in  her  defence  of  St.  John's 
Wood.  No  sooner  was  the  Queen  in  town  for  a  day  or 
two  than  her  carriage  with  its  escort  was  seen  in  Regent's 
Park  and  St.  John's  Wood. 

It  was  a  bright,  inspiring  day.  Philip  with  the  remem- 
brance of  Dolly  and  that  strong  determination  of  duty  in 
his  mind  felt  the  influence  of  the  Russian  shadow  slipping 
away  from  him ;  though  if  he  had  cared  to  be  perfectly 
frank  with  himself  he  would  have  had  to  acknowledge  that 
his  sudden  realization  of  the  claims  of  duty  had  something 
to  do  with  exorcism  of  the  pale  face  and  the  red-gold  hair. 

When  he  arrived  at  Westbury  Lodge  he  found  Dolly 
waiting  for  him  in  the  little  morning  room.  How  lovely 
she  looked  !  You  might  have  asked  Philip  how  she  was 
dressed  and  he  could  not  have  told  you.  She  seemed  to 
him  like  the  embodiment  of  ihe  day,  floral,  fresh,  sunny  and 
sweet.  Whether  she  wore  a  bonnet  or  a  hat,  what  was 
the  color  of  her  gown,  would  have  been  questions  as  diffi- 
cult to  him  as  abstruse  points  in  Algebra ;  but  the  general 
effect  was  a  dream  of  English  girlhood,  sunny  hair,  soft, 
glowing  cheeks,  red  lips,  arched  like  Cupid's  bow,  and 


tft  BY  ORDEJi  OF  THE  CZAR. 

when  she  spoke  a  musical  voice  that  had  nothing  in  it  but 
forgiveness  and  love,  and  no  other  suggestion  than  a  desire 
to  be  amiable  and  happy.  He  felt  the  contrast  between 
this  and  his  intercourse  with  the  Lady  Stravensky,  as  a  rest- 
ful, calm  delight. 

Dolly  submitted  to  be  kissed,  and  accepted  Philip's  apo- 
logies with  a  pretty  s'.nile,  saying,  "  Oh,  it  did  not  matter." 
Of  course  she  had  thought  when  people  were  engaged  that 
— but  she  would  say  nothing,  Jennie  had  said  quite  enough 
she  was  sure,  and  it  was  all  her  fault  for  taking  it  to  heart. 
"  And  I  did  somehow  take  it  to  heart,"  she  went  on,  *'  but 
I  am  spoiled,  Jennie  spoils  me,  Walter  spoils  me,  and  I 
expected  you  would;  perhaps  it  is  as  well — besides  it  is  a 
mistake  not  to  allow  each  other  a  little  freedom,  is  it 
not?" 

"  So  long  as  you  allow  me  the  freedom  to  love  you  with 
all  my  heart,"  said  Philip,  kissing  her  again,  "  that  is  enough 
for  me,"  and  in  saying  so  he  said  exactly  what  he  thought 
at  the  moment,  his  ecstasy  being  enhanced  by  a  responsive 
embrace  that  blotted  out  every  thought  of  the  Countess 
Stravensky,  her  violet  eyes,  red-gold  hair  and  all ;"  for  in 
the  matter  of  beauty,  for  pleasant  companionship,  to  live 
with,  to  go  to  receptions  with,  to  have  at  a  young  man's 
side,  to  make  other  young  men  envious  of,  Dolly  Norcott 
could,  to  quote  Sam  Selwyn,  give  any  other  girl  in  all  the 
wide  world  as  many  points  as  the  severest  handicapper 
could  desire  and  beat  her  by  miles  ! 

Poor  Selwyn,  he  had  made  it  a  point  to  be  at  Lady  For- 
syth's At  Home  ;  he  had  long  been  on  her  ladyship's 
visiting  list ;  and  an  off  day  on  the  Stock  Exchange  and 
other  considerations  drove  him  to  Gower-street.  Moreovei: 
he  hoped  to  meet  Mrs.  Milbanke  and  her  sister.  He  had 
heard  of  the  engagement  between  Philip  and  Dolly  almost 
as  soon  as  he  was  awake  the  next  morning,  but  he  had  no 
intentipu  of  resenting  it.     He  had  not  proposed  to  Dolly, 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  I9$ 

therefore  he  had  no  grievance.  He  liked  Walter  Milbanke, 
and  occasionally  did  business  with  him.  He  enjoyed  Mrs. 
Milbanke's  little  parties  ;  and  he  loved  Dolly  devotedly ; 
why,  therefore,  should  he  give  the  Milbankcs  reason  to 
fight  shy  of  him  ?  No,  he  would  continue  the  friendship 
if  they  would  let  him.  He  could  not  help  thinking  Philip 
a  bit  of  a  snob ;  but  for  Dolly's  sake  he  would  try  and  like 
him.  Besides,  there  is  many  a  slip  betwixt  the  cup  and 
the  lip  ;  the  safest  stock  would  occasionally  collapse.  No- 
thing was  certain  except  settling  day;  even  that  had  a 
bright  side  to  it  now  and  then ;  and  he  determined  to  keep 
alive  just  for  his  own  smoking,  as  he  called  it,  his  fancy 
for  Dolly  Norcott. 

The  fellows  at  the  City  Club  where  Sam  was  lunching 
with  these  reflections  in  his  mind,  while  Dolly  and  Jennie 
were  having  their  after-breakfast  discussion,  gave  Sam 
credit  for  a  very  different  line  of  thought  from  that  which 
engaged  him.  It  was  known  that  he  had  made  what  they 
called  a  haul  in  nitrate  rails  and  primitivas.  A  genial, 
clever,  merry  fellow,  Sam  had  attracted  the  friendly  notice 
of  the  master  of  those  stocks,  who  over  a  chop  and  a 
bottle  of  Roederer  had  confided  to  Sam  certain  information 
upon  which  the  young  broker  had  acted  with  a  lively  faith 
and  a  firm  hand,  which  had  had  remarkable  results. 

**  Just  bought  an  estate  in  Surrey,  I  hear,"  said  Cordiner. 
"  Well,  I  congratulate  you." 

"  I've  had  one  in  Spain  any  time  this  ten  years,"  said 
Sam.     *'  It  won't  run  to  Surrey." 

"  There  is  no  fellow  going  whose  good  luck  is  less 
envied  than  yours,  Sam." 

"  And  you  ? "  said  Sam,  looking  up  from  his  simple 
repast  and  contemplating  his  suave,  genial,  well-fed,  clean- 
shaven, fashionably-dressed  friend. 

"  Oh  ! "  said  Cordiner,  "  if  my  doctor  did  not  interfere 

with  my  champagne,  and  Providence  invented  for  one's 

13 


194  SY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

sins  a  less  severe  form  of  punishment  than  gout,  I  should 
be  the  happiest  man  alive." 
"  You  are  married  ?  " 

"  Rather,"  said  Cordiner  ;  "  happy,  though  married,  as 
the  bookstalls  have  it," 

**  I  am  a  bacheloj,"  said  Sam,  and  the  information 
vouchsafed  on  both  ;>ides  was  not  so  much  out  of  place  in 
the  conversation  of  City  friends  as  might  at  first  appear  ; 
it  is  common  enough  in  the  City  of  London  for  men  to 
know  each  other  intimately  within  the  shadow  of  the 
Stock  Exchange,  and  even  at  certain  West  End  clubs, 
without  having  the  smallest  knowledge  of  each  other's 
domestic  relations.  • 

"  Then  you  don't  want  the  estate  in  Surrey  at  present," 
said  Cordiner — "  no  good  without  a  wife." 

**  I  suppose  not,"  said  Sam,  "  unless " 

"  No,  no,  don't  do  that,  old  chap  ;  no  fun  to  be  got  out 
of  that." 

"No?"  said  Sam,  his  thoughts  running  in  quite  a 
different  direction  from  those  of  Cordiner. 

"  None ;  morality  pays,  my  boy ;  requires  a  bit  of  a 
struggle;  perhaps  some  experience;  but  in  regard  to 
women  it  comes  within  the  proverb  about  honesty  being 
the  best  policy." 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  Sam,  who  by  this  time  had  come  to 
the  cheese  and  to  a  consideration  of  which  frock-coat  he 
would  wear  for  the  Forsyth  afternoon,  and  how  long  it 
would  take  him  to  get  home  and  dress ;  and  he  wondered 
if  Dolly  would  be  there,  and  what  she  would  say  to  him, 
how  she  would  receive  him  ;  how  Philip  would  treat  him 
— haughtily,  of  course.  The  conquering  hero  game  and 
all  that  j  well,  he  did  not  care— he  was  not  going  to  allow 
himself  to  be  shut  out  of  a  comer  of  Paradise  because  he 
could  not  range  all  over  it. 

"Are  you  off?"  said  Cordiner,  who  had  made  som§ 
other  remark  to  Sam  which  had  not  b?^A  answered. 


»       BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  195 

"  Yes." 

*'  You  are  wool-gathering  a  little,  eh  ?  " 

"Ami?"  said  Sam. 

**  Yes,  you  are,"  replied  Cordiner,  ordering  "  a  pint  of 
the  driest  there  is  in  the  club ;  speak  to  the  steward,  send 
him  to  me,  that's  the  best  thing,  there's  a  brut  of  eighty  or 
something  of  that  kind,  I  think " 

While  Cordiner  was  thus  trying  to  defend  himself  as 
much  as  possible  from  the  penalty  of  his  favorite  sin, 
Sam  bad  said,  "  Good-morning,  old  fellow,"  and  a  few 
minutes  later  was  bowling  away  to  his  chambers  in  Sack- 
ville-street.  And  very  pleasant  chambers  they  were! 
Four  rooms — three  for  himself,  one  for  his  man,  Devereux, 
a  calm,  serious,  quiet  man  of  forty,  looked  sixty,  and 
might  have  lived  all  his  life  with  a  bishop. 

*' Morning  frock,  white  vest,  grey  trousers,"  said  the 
master. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Devereux. 

"  White  silk  tie,  usual  boots." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Devereux. 

"  The  brougham  at  four  to  the  minute." 
.     "  Yes,  sir,"  said  Devereux, 

"That's  all." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Devereux. 

They  were,  indeed,  very  pleasant  chambers — not  your 
usual  kind  of  bachelor  chambers,  decorated  with  pictures 
of  ballet-girls,  or  studies  from  Etty,  or  racehorses,  or 
illustrations  of  prize-fights,  or  pictures  of  yachts,  but 
good,  common-sense,  respectable  rooms :  a  dining-room, 
furnished  in  light  oak,  with  a  dado  to  match,  a  few  paint- 
ings by  the  best  modern  masters,  a  cabinet  for  wines  and 
spirits,  a  couple  of  old  arm-chairs,  an  oak  over-mantel, 
with  a  few  nice  specimens  of  Nankin  blue,  and  on  the 
polished  floor  a  thick  Turkey  carpet.  The  adjoining 
room  was  arranged  for  smoking  and  cards;  not  that 


196  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.      ' 

there  was  much  play  at  any  time  in  Seiwyn's  rooms,  but 
his  friends  liked  a  hand  at  whist  or  poker,  and  he  believed 
in  making  them  comfortable.  He  had  keys  foi  every- 
thing— his  cigar  cabinet,  his  cards,  his  counters,  his 
spirits;  he  was  business-like — not  that  he  did  not  trust 
Devereux,  who  kept  in  a  special  cupboard  a  reserve  of 
spirits,  wines  and  cigars,  but  Sam  liked  his  bunch  of  keys  ; 
they  were,  villi  their  bright  chain,  a  form  of  personal 
decoration  :  the  chain  represented  a  sort  of  male  chatelain 
when  he  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets  on  dress  occa- 
sions, and  he  rattled  it  and  his  keys  with  something  of  a 
housekeeper's  pride. 

There  were  a  few  cards  stuck  in  his  over-mantel — 
private  views  of  pictures,  two  or  three  At  Homes,  invita- 
tions to  smoking  concerts ;  and  prominent  among  the 
society  cards,  as  S,'  m  called  them,  was  Lady  Forsyth's 
Every  Wec''ierday  Afternoon  in  May  and  June. 

**  Quite  reat-y,  sir,"  said  Devereux,  in  his  ecclesiastical 
manner. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Sam,  reMring  to  his  bedroom,  the 
very  model  of  a  sleeping  apartment,  with  a  spacious  bath- 
room beyond. 

What  could  a  fellow  like  San  Selwyn  want  with  a  wife 
while  he  possessed  all  these  luxuries  aud  privileges — such 
a  servant  as  Devereux,  who  had  neve:  be^n  known  to  be 
in  drink  or  out  of  temper,  and  with  an  'mproving  business, 
a  growing  balance  at  his  banker's,  and  financial  prospects 
generally  of  the  rosiest. 

These  questions  in  a  vague  way  presented  themselves  to 
Sam  as  he  began  to  dress  for  Lady  Forsyth's  At  Home ; 
they  occurred  to  him  probably  because  the  prospect  of 
his  having  a  wife  now  seemed  further  off  than  ever ;  as  his 
means  had  increased — just,  indeed,  as  he  could  afford 
with  a  clear  conscieiice  to  have  said  to  Dolly  Norcott, 
"Be  mine" — she  had  drifted  further  away,   nay,   right 


SV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  197 

away  from  him ;  she  had  engaged  herself  to  be  married  to 
another,  and  tV.'»  match  was  considered  to  be  a  good  one 
all  round. 

"  And  yet,  somehow,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  I  don't  say 
die ;  might  as  well,  of  course ;  to  hope  is  like  locking  up 
stock  that  you  know  is  as  dead  as  last  week's  quotations 
with  a  view  to  the  future  ;  may  look  up  some  day ;  do  to 
leave  in  one's  will  as  a  possible  asset,  or  to  schedule  in 
bankruptcy,  as  Cordiner  would  say,  when  he  is  chaffing 
old  Smudger — might  swell  out  the  figures — unrealized 
assets :  unrealizable  would  be  the  right  description. 
Lucky  at  cards,  unlucky  in  love ;  can't  have  luck  all 
ways  ;  if  I'd  busted  perhaps  I  should,  in  my  despair,  have 
proposed  and  been  accepted.  No  accounting  for  what's 
going  to  happen  in  this  world ;  don't  know  as  one  can 
either  bull  or  bear  the  next,  for  that  matter.  Suppose  I 
mustn't  complain ;  I  never  ax'd  her,  sir,  she  said ;  and 
P'ortune  has  favored  me  up  yonder  on  'Change.  Cheer 
up,  Sam,  don't  let  your  spirits  go  down,  there's  many  a 
gal  as  you  knows  well — no,  confound  it,  that's  vulgar; 
I'm  losing  my  grip ;  hate  those  horrid  comic,  bragging 
masher  songs ;  wouldn't  have  Devereux  hear  me  chant  a 
thing  like  that  for  a  fiver;  and  I  was  thinking  of  Miss 
Norcott,  too;  Sam,  what  are  you  about?  The  fact  is,  I 
am  not  the  kind  of  fellow  for  a  girl  like  that !  Forsyth 
has  style;  handsome  chap,  too;  knows  how  to  put  on 
side ;  then  his  mother  has  a  title ;  he  hasn't,  that's  one 
thing;  father  only  a  knight  after  all ;  no  belter  than  Tom 
Wylie ;  no  better  than  Vinotis  Harry ;  I  could  get  to  be 
Sir  Samuel  in  time,  if  I  liked ;  easy  enough,  only  give 
your  mind,  and  your  stomach,  to  it  in  the  City,  Sir 
Samuel  Selwyn.  Well,  my  forbears  were  swells  down 
in  Yorkshire ;  I  shouldn't  disgrace  them ;  perhaps  I 
should.  Cordiner  says  one  is  most  distinguished  not  to 
be  Sir  This  or  That.     Old  Smudger  would  call  me  Sir 


19S  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

Samivel ;  but  for  all  that  my  wife  in  the  West  End  would 
be  Lady  Selwyn ;  and  after  all  that's  the  only  good  of  a 
title ;  it's  either  for  the  missus  or  the  boy  ;  at  least  in  the 
case  of  real  grit;  as  for  the  Snooters  who  get  titles  up  in 
the  City — well,  but  it  is  all  right ;  surely,  I  am  not  making 
a  grievance  of  it ;  and  as  for  Sir  Richard  Smyth,  Sir  Harry 
Dane  and  those  other  two  fellows  who  sprang  up  the 
other  day  out  of  fish  and  fruit  into  knighthoods,  they  are 
very  good  fellows  after  all." 

"  Carriage  at  the  door,  sir,"  said  Devereux. 

"  Thanks,"  Sam  replied.  "  My  coat  all  right,  Dev- 
ereux? " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Devereux,  hitching  up  the  collar  and 
pulling  it  down  again  with  a  professional  air.  "  Good  fitting 
coat,  sir."  , 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  the  master.  "  Shall  dine  at  the 
club." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Ready  to  dress  at  seven." 

«  Yes,  sir." 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

LADY  FORSYTH  AT  HOME. 

And  half  an  hour  later  Samuel  Selwyn,  Esquire,  looking 
his  very  best,  shook  hands  with  Lady  Forsyth,  in  a  dark- 
ened room,  and  surrounded^  by  a  delightful  mixture  of 
Somebodies  and  Nobodies,  guests  from  Mayfair,  and 
callers  from  Brixton.  Sam  felt  quite  an  important  person 
when  he  encountered  little  Lomas,  the  author  of  **  City 
Notes "  in  the  Society  Snapper,  and  who  every  Friday 
made  a  point  of  looking  Sam  up  for  *'  a  few  financial  hints, 
don't  you  know."  Little  Lomas  was  quite  conspicuous 
on  this  occasion.     ''  Made  five  and  twenty,"  thought  Sara, 


BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  199 

"  out  of  the  Automaton  shares  which  eld  Sraudger  let  him 
have,  carrying  a  little  premium  before  allotment." 

Little  Lomas,  however,  represented  the  smallest  of  the 
Nobodies  at  Lady  Forsyth's  ;  and  the  next  moment  Mr. 
Selwyn  was  struck,  not  Avith  the  apparition  of  a  certain 
famous  statesman,  whom  his  enemies  call,a  mere  politician, 
but  with  the  real  genuine  Simon  Pure  himself,  and  evident- 
ly in  one  of  those  amiable  moods,  about  which  newspaper 
interviewers  wax  eloquent.  The  great  man  was  talking  to 
Miss  Spofforth,  the  new  tragedienne  fresh  from  the  United 
States,  at  whose  first  appearance  he  had  most  kindly  as- 
sisted. He  was  telling  her  to  the  delight  of  several  listen- 
ers how  much  he  admired  America,  how  deeply  he  regretted 
he  had  not  been  able  to  visit  that  country,  what  pleasure 
it  gave  him  to  know  that  he  had  many  good  friends  there, 
and  so  on. 

Sam  felt  that  it  was  not  quite  cotnme  il  faut  to  stand  by 
and  Hsten,  but  he  could  not  help  it;  and  he  was  very  much 
interested  when  the  hostess  ventured  to  introduce  his  Ex- 
cellency Signer  P'errari  to  the  illustrious  statesman.  Why 
Ferrari  was  his  Excellency  did  not  transpire,  but  Lady 
Forsyth  was  lavish  with  courteous  titles  and  compli- 
mentary distirctions.  The  name  of  Ferrari  set  the  states- 
man's mind  traveling  from  America  to  Italy  ;  but  Ferrari 
promptly  turned  the  conversation  to  the  Russian  news  of 
the  day,  with  its  startling  details  of  a  military  conspiracy 
just  unearthed  by  the  police,  and  developing  extraordinary 
ramifications.  Ferrari,  considering  that  he  referred  to 
himself  as  an  old-fashioned  loyalist,  did  not  seem  to  speak 
of  the  affair  with  very  great  regret ;  fie  even  said  that  it 
might  be  a  good  thing  to  bring  the  Young  Russian  agita- 
tion to  a  head,  so  that  once  for  all  Europe  should  be  re- 
lieved of  the  everlasting  threat  of  a  great  Russian  upheaval. 
The  famous  statesman  replied  with  both  frankness  and 
caution,  expressing  sympathy  with  the  Czar,  but  at  the 


£Y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

same  time  regretting  that  the  Emperor  did  not  see  his  way 
to  give  his  people  a  Constitution.  Oddly  enough  the 
next  day  all  this  and  much  more  appeared  as  the  result  of 
an  informal  chat  at  a  dinner  party  with  an  illustrious 
statesman,  and  was  quoted  in  a  London  evening  paper. 
Little  Lomas  had  thus  easily  capitalized  his  excursion  from 
Brixton  to  Gower-street ;  and  what  did  he  care  about  the 
protest  of  a  high-minded  London  journal  against  the  pub- 
lication of  private  conversation?  Or  for  that  matter  what 
did  anybody  else  care  ? 

Lady  Forsyth  might  well  be  proud  of  her  afternoons, 
of  the  one  under  notice  in  particular.  The  Hon.  Member 
for  Blodgetts-in-the-Marsh  brought  his  wife,  who  is  sup- 
posed to  inspire  the  smartest  of  the  personal  articles  in 
his  clever  journal  of  Chat  and  Opinion.  He  seemed  to 
be  in  unusually  good  spirits,  and  attended  the  distinguished 
statesman  to  his  carriage,  chatting  all  the  while  about  a 
certain  Party  resolution  which  was  to  shake  the  Govern- 
ment on  the  following  day. 

The  famous  statesman  did  not  stay  long  with  Lady 
Forsyth.  When  he  was  gone  there  was  time  to  look 
around  and  make  note  of  the  other  celebrities,  which,  by 
the  way,  was  being  done  with  a  critical  eye  by  Mr.  Lucien 
Lightfoot  of  the  Social  and  Political  Review,  which  he 
represents  with  a  deep  sense  of  its  importance  and  circu- 
lation. Mr.  Lightfoot  has  the  run  of  the  highest  society, 
not  alone  as  a  journalist,  but  for  his  own  sweet  sake  ;  he 
gives  At  Homes  himself  on  a  large  scale,  and  is  in  the 
confidence  of  no  end  of  Society  people,  who  seek  his 
advice  as  to  **  the  right  thing  to  do,  don't  you  know,"  on 
certain  occasions.  Since  the  eminent  Mr.  Jenkins,  of  the 
Post,  joined  the  majority,  and  the  journal  of  the  upper 
circles  went  down  into  the  ranks  of  the  Conservative 
Democracy,  no  newspaper  man  has  made  so  distinguished 
a  mark  in  Mayfair  as  Mr.  Lightfoot,  a  past  master  in  the 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  90l 

modem  art  of  Society  journalism.  He  is  not  only  a 
famous  paragraphist,  but  in  his  social  records  knows  exact- 
ly where  to  draw  the  line.  '•  There  are  At  Homes  and 
At  Homes,"  he  said  to  Selwyn.  "  One  does  not  care  to 
meet  Little  Lomas  nor  to  be  hobnobbing  with  the  Mem- 
ber for  Ballyraggan,  but  Lady  Forsyth  leavens  the  stodgy 
lump  of  mediocrity  with  blood  and  distinction  ; "  and  if 
you  had  read  Lightfoot's  account  of  the  Forsyth  At  Home 
you  would  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  company 
consisted  of  the  most  ultramarine  of  the  aristocracy.  He 
knew  how  to  give  the  affair  sufficient  tone  for  the  Review. 
In  Lightfoot's  narrative  the  great  statesman  came  with  his 
intellectual  and  charming  wife  ;  the  Duchess  of  Malapert 
brought  her  niece,  the  Hon.  Miss  Stannyward,  whose  con- 
tributions to  the  fiction  of  the  year  had  lifted  her  at  a 
bound  into  the  foremost  ranks  of  lady  novelists ;  the  Misses 
Flaherty  wore  delicious  Empire  gowns.  The  calm  eyes 
of  the  Irish  leader  surveyed  jthe  scene  with  interest,  except 
when  he  was  comparing  notes  with  his  friend  the  American 
essayist,  who  had  just  arrived  in  London  from  cultured 
Boston.  The  Russian  came  with  his  handsome  mother  ; 
several  members  of  the  Chinese  embassy  were  present; 
Miss  RoUin,  the  Shakesperian  reciter,  gave  Portia's  speech 
with  much  classic  correctness,  and  Mr.  Garrick  Macready 
electrified  the  company  with  "The  Spanish  Mother  ;"  Sir 
Peter  and  Lady  Freame,  fresh  from  the  Royal  function  at 
Windsor,  put  in  a  brief  but  welcome  appearance ;  and  on 
the  other  hand  the  latest  political  thorn  in  the  side  of  the 
Government,  Mr.  Stewart  Montrose  Morency,  and  his 
sister,  the  founder  of  the  Home  for  Distressed  Socialists, 
was  welcomed  by  the  hostess  with  her  well-known  Cos- 
mopolitan views  of  the  world,  of  society,  and  politics. 
And  so  on ;  it  is  an  education  in  the  ways  and  peculiarities 
of  society,  artistic,  Bohemian  and  Royal,  to  read  Mr. 
Lightfoot's  accounts  of  men  and  things  in  the  Review. 


9M  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

Lady  Forsyth,  in  a  grey  Irish  poplin,  was  ubiquitous, 
and  it  must  be  confessed  that  she  was  a  very  agreeable 
hostess.  Selwyn  wandered  about  more  at  his  ease  with 
Philip  Forsyth  than  with  Dolly  Norcott.  He  thought 
Dolly  tried  to  avoid  him  ;  he  was  sure  Philip  did ;  but  he 
was  not  in  the  humor  to  be  avoided  by  anybody  who,  as 
he  said,  was  anybody. 

"  Will  you  forgive  me  for  saying  you  look  charming  ?  '* 
he  said  to  Dolly,  with  whom  after  several  efforts  he  was 
enabled  to  have  a  word. 

"  I  would  forgive  you  for  even  saying  something  mifch 
more  disagreeable,"  said  Dolly,  in  her  liveliest  manner. 

"  Then  forgive  me  for  congratulating  you — of  course,  I 
am  delighted  at  anything  that  pleases  you,  or  Walter,  or 
Mrs.  Milbanke  ;  but  of  course  every  young  fellow  in  Lon- 
don will  be  jealous." 

"  What  are  you  trying  to  say,  my  dear  Mr.  Selwyn  ?  " 
Dolly  asked,  knowing,  of  course,  exactly  what  he  was  try- 
ing to  say. 

"  I  was  trying  to  congratulate  you  on  your  engagement 
to  Mr.  Forsyth,"  he  answered. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,"  she  said,  slightly  discomfitted  at  Sam's 
prompt  reply.  ' 

"  Of  course,  he  is  the  one  to  be  congratulated,"  he  went 
on,  wondering  all  the  time  at  his  own  temerity. 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Dolly,  defiantly.  "  You  seem  to  think 
it  a  good  joke." 

"  It  is  no  joke  for  your  other  admirers." 

"  Nor  to  Mr.  Forsyth,  nor  to  me,  Mr.  Selwyn,"  said 
Dolly,  drawing  herself  up  to  her  full  height  and  passing 
on. 

"  There  now,  what  a  fool  I  am,"  said  Sam  to  himself. 
"  I  have  offended  her ;  determined  to  be  bold  I  have  over- 
done it,  I  suppose.  Here  comes  her  sister,  I'll  apologize. 
Awfully  sorry,"  he  said  to  Jenny,  "  I  think  I  have  offended 


BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  ao3 

your  sister.  I  was  trying  to  congratulate  her,  you  know  ; 
and  I  think  I  was  too  frivolous,  as  your  good  husband^ 
Walter,  would  say.*' 

"  I  am  sure  you  did  not  mean  to  offend  her,"  said  Jenny, 
"  and  therefore  she  must  not  be  offended." 

"  Will  you  say  to  her  if  there  is  anyone  in  the  world  it 
would  break  my  heart  to  offend  it  is  Miss  Norcott  ;  except, 
perhaps,  her  charming  sister,  Mrs.  Milbanke." 

*'  I  am  sure  of  it,"  said  Jenny. 

'*  Besides,  my  dear  Mrs.  Milbanke,  I  will  confess  to  you, 
strictly  between  ourselves  ;  but  perhaps  I  had  better  not." 

"  Oh  yes,  do  by  all  means,  you  may  confide  in  me  ;  let 
us  retreat  to  Lady  Forsyth's  Rosamond's  bower,  as  she 
calls  it,  where  you  may  give  me  a  cup  of  tea  and  your  per- 
fect confidence,  will  you  ?  " 

Yes,  he  would  and  did,  and  Jenny  was  very  much  in- 
terested. 

"  The  truth  is,  my  dear  Mrs.  Milbanke,  if  something 
had  happened  last  week  that  happened  yesterday  I  should 
have  been  daring  enough,  impertinent  enough  I  ought  to 
say,  to  have  proposed  myself  to  Dolly — I  can't  help  call- 
ing her  Dolly  when  I  think  of  it." 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  Jenny  encouragingly. 

"  But  I  could  not,  alas  !  offer  her  a  week  ago  what  I 
could  to-day  !  "     * 

'Yes?  "said  the  sweet  little  insinuating  voice  of  Mrs. 
Milbanke. 

"  Last  week  I  was  only  worth  a  couple  a  thousand  a 
year  from  my  business — my  vulgar  business  I  fear  you 
will  say — but  business  is  business,  and  England  has  made 
her  name  and  fame  by  it,  and  her  greatness  after  all  is 
business." 

"  Yes  ?  "  repeated  the  stiil  small  voice  of  Mrs.  Milbanke. 

"  And  to-day  I  have  in  addition  to  that  two  thousand  a 
year  a  good  solid  thirty  thousand  pounds.'* 


904  ^y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

'*  Thei»  Nitrates  have  turned  up  trumps,  as  you  city  men 
say,"  remarked  Jenny. 

"  They  have,"  said  Sam,  "  and  next  week  they  may  land 
me  another  thivty  thousand  for  all  I  know,  and  I  have  not 
a  single  losing  investment ;  but  to-day,  unfortunately,  is 
this  week,  not  last,  eh,  Mrs.  Miibanke?  " 

"  You  are  a  very  good  fellow,  Mr.  Selwyn,  and  we  shall 
always  be  glad  to  see  you  at  Westbury  Lodge." 

"  And  you  will  apologize  to  Dolly  for  me,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  I  include  Dolly,  when  I  say  we  shall  always  be  glad 
to  see  you  at  Westbury  Lodge.  I  must  go  and  speak  to 
Lady  Forsyth.  Good-bye,  if  we  don't  meet  again  ;  we 
are  going  soon."  She  gave  him  her  hand.  **  Walter  always 
said  you  would  get  on.  You  are  cautious  and  clever.  I 
congratulate  you  on  your  good  fortune.  Come  and  see 
us  soon  ;  we  must  always  be  good  friends." 

"  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Miibanke,"  said  Selwyn,  pressing  the 
plump,  generous  little  hand.  , 

And  both  drifted  away  in  different  directions.  Selwyn 
found  himself  hushed  into  silence  while  a  lady  of  the  opera 
sang  a  mournful  love  song  that  made  him  feel  lonely,  and 
Mrs.  Miibanke  Rurried  to  Dolly  to  tell  her  what  Selwyn 
had  said ,  Dolly  remarked  that  she  was  very  glad  to  hear 
of  Mr.  Selwyn's  good  fortune  ;  she  should  always  take  an 
interest  in  him ;  she  was  not  in  the  least  offended  at  what 
he  had  said  ;  she  had  turned  away  from  him  because  she 
thought  it  was  the  right  thing  to  do  ;  but  she  really  felt 
complimented,  because  it  was  clear  that  he  envied  Philip. 

"  And  Philip  ?  "  said  Jenny. 

"  Oh,  he  is  very  good,  awfully  penitent,  says  he  never 
saw  me  look  so  lovely,  is  quite  ready  for  Venice  or  any- 
where else  so  long  as  I  am  there,  his  apparent  neglect  was 
really  anxiety  for  his  art  because  he  wants  to  be  worthy 
of  me,  and  indeed  he  was  ever  so  good,  he  has  gone  to  be 
presented  to  one  of  his  mother's  foreign  friends.  Why, 
here  is  Walter  I" 


By  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  205 

And  sure  enough  W.alter  had  hurried  from  his  city  office 
and  driven  straight  to  Gower-street. 

"  Thought  I  would  like  to  come,"  he  said, "  was  bothered 
about  Forsyth  ;  has  he  turned  up  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Jenny,  '*  came  to  bring  us  here,  was  full 
of  apologies.    I  talked  to  him  like  a  sister." 
.  "  And  he  replied  like  a  brother,"  rejoined  Walter,  in  his 
comedy-dialogue  fashion. 

'■  He  did,"  said  Jenny. 

«  And  all  is  well,  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  That's  right.     Where  is  he  ?  " 

'*  Talking  to  the  Baron  Von  Something,  who  has  just 
arrived  from  Berlin." 

'*  The  Berlin-gloved  old  gentleman  with  the  collars  and 
the  glasses  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  see.  He  must  come  to  dinner,  and  we  will  settle 
the  Italian  business  :  I  would  like  you  to  be  ready  by 
Monday." 

*•  We  are  ready  now,"  said  Mrs.  Jenny,  "  have  been 
ready  this  three  weeks." 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  said  Walter,  "  but  Philip  wasn't 
ready ;  he's  ready  now,  eh  ?  " 

'*  Oh,  yes,  quite,"  said  Dolly. 

"  Very  well,  then  ;  we'll  be  off  at  once." 

"  Not  this  minute?" 

"  No,  next  week.  Oh,  yonder  is  Selwyn  ;  must  speak 
to  him ;  he  has  made  a  fortune  since  we  saw  him  last- 
yesterday,  in  fact.  But  here  is  Philip.  Ah,  Forsyth,  my 
dear  fellow,  glad  to  see  you ;  how  well  you  look  I  Will 
you  dine  with  us  to-night  enfaniilU — a  very  real  phrase 
to  you  now  at  Westbury  Lodge — and  go  over  our  Italian 
route,  eh  ?  We  propose  to  start  on  Monday  ;  we  shall  be 
\xi  time  for  the  royal  function  we  were  talking  of  the  other 


m6  by  order  of  the  czar, 

day  j  something  too  tremendously  gorgeous  even  in  the 
history  of  Venice ;  have  got  our  rooms  all  right ;  quite  a 
favor,  but  the  hotel  people  knew  us.  Can  you  be 
ready  ? " 

*'  Oh,  yes,"  said  Philip. 

"We  shall  stay  in  Paris  a  few  days;  so  if  you  have 
any  little  arrangements  to  make  at  the  last  moment,  you 
can  join  us  at  the  Grand,  eh  ?  " 

Walter  was  full  of  the  trip,  and  so  delighted  to  find 
things  all  right  again  between  Philip  and  his  girls,  as  he 
called  the  sisters,  that  he  went  on  talking  out  of  sheer 
exuberance  of  spirits. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

PHILIP'S   LOVE    FOR    DOLLY. 

"  Your  countess  left  London  for  Paris  this  morning,  en 
route  for  St.  Petersburg,"  said  Lady  Forsyth  to  Philip, 
when  her  last  guest  had  departed  and  they  were  sitting 
down  to  a  quiet  cup  of  tea  together.  "  Her  secretary, 
Signor  Ferrari,  was  here ;  did  you  see  him?  " 

''  No." 

"  I  introduced  him  to  the  famous  statesman." 

"  Indeed^  He  is  the  man  Chetwynd  talked  so  much 
about;  always  in  attendance,  I  understood." 

"  I  believe  so ;  but  all  rules  have  their  exceptions." 

'•  Who  and  what  is  this  countess,  mother  ? "  Philip 
asked. 

"  A  very  remarkable  woman,"  Lady  Forsyth  replied ; 
"  has  the  entrie  into  the  very  best  society,  political  and 
otherwise  :  curiously  fascinating,  is  she  not  ?  " 

"  Has  she  a  mission  ?  "  Philip  asked,  without  noticing 
bis  mother's  question. 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  ao; 

«  Probably." 

•*  Why  did  Lady  Marchmount  say  she  was  not  in  her 
box  when  she  was  ?  " 

"  Don't  ask  me  conundrums :  at  the  same  time,  my 
dear  boy,  let  me  tell  you  that  I  would  not  believe  Lady 
Marchmount  on  her  oath  ;  they  are  a  self-seeking  lot,  the 
Marchmounts ;  they  coulc^  make  nothing  of  loyalty  and 
Toryism  and  that  kind  of  business,  so  they  came  over  to  us, 
and  now  they  out-Herod  Herod  in  their  intrigues  and  pro- 
fessed ambitions." 

"  Then  they  might  be  taking  hand  in  a  Nihilist  plot  ?  " 

"  They  would  not  mind  engaging  their  dirty  hands  in 
anything,"  said  Lady  Forsyth,  wivh  a  tone  of  unsup- 
pressed  contempt. 

"  But  the  countess  is  a  staunch  Russian  of  the  old 
rigime" 

"  Is  she  ?  "  asked  Lady  Forsyth. 

"  Is  she  not?"  was  Philip's  rejoinder. 

"What  is  it  to  you  or  me,  Philip  dear,  what  she  is? 
For  the  moment  she  is  interesting,  has  had  a  romantic 
career,  is  beautiful,  has  sat  to  you ;  for  heaven's  sake, 
let  us  be  content.  If  you  ask  me  what  sort  of  a  woman  it 
is  who  has  such  a  secretary  as  Ferrari,  I  should  say  she 
might  be  anything — a  Nihilistic  adventuress,  or  a  duchess 
who  loves  curiosities." 

"  Whatever  she  is,  mother,  depend  upon  it  she  is  a 
high-minded  and  noble  woman,  and  if  she  had  devoted 
herself  to  some  great  act  of  national  duty  that  might 
involve  her  life,  I  should  not  be  surprised." 

'*  I  hope  she  has  not  inspired  my  dear  boy  with  some 
romantic  fancy,"  said  Lady  Forsyth.  "  In  the  first  place, 
she  is  ten  years  your  elder;  in  the  next  place,  she  has 
been  married  twice ;  how  often  she  may  have  been 
divorced,  who  can  say  ?  " 

Philip  felt  the  color  come  into  his  checks  at  the  sug- 


2o8  BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

gestion  that  the  countess  had  made  an  undue  impression 
upon  him,  which  did  not  escape  his  mother's  notice. 

"She  is  not  more  than  thirty,"  he  said;  "but  whatever 
she  may  be,  surely  there  is  no  harm  in  taking  an  interest 
in  her." 

"  Not  at  all.  One  may  take  an  interest  in  a  baboon,  or 
in  the  Irish  secretary;  but  these  Russian  princesses,  these 
Polish  countesses,  these  Jewesses,  who  marry  old  lords 
and  play  at  politics,  regal  or  democratic,  are  women  to 
be  wary  of ;  you  are  in  their  trap  before  you  know  where 
you  are." 

"  Yes,  mother,  I  quite  understand.  I  was  only  seeking 
information,  not  warnings." 

"  Very  well,  my  dear,  you  have  got  both,  and  I  hope 
they  will  do  you  good.  You  know  how  I  love  you ;  there 
is  no  one  in  the  world  who  can  give  such  good  advice  and 
information  as  mine ;  and  in  the  matter  of  information,  my 
dear  Philip,  you  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  you  are  to  take 
me  with  you  this  evening  to  dine  at  Wcstbury  Lodge." 

"  Delighted,"  said  Philip. 

"  Mrs.  Milbanke  confided  to  me  that  there  had  been 
just  the  suspicion  of  a  little  misunderstanding;  and  when 
I  tell  you  that  I  saw  the  shadow  of  the  Countess  Stra- 
vensky  in  the  affair,  you  will  not  be  surprised  at  my 
venturing  to  warn  you." 

"  Has  Mrs.  Milbanke  been  talking  me  over,  then?  " 

"  Not  at  all :  what  she  said  sprang  out  of  a  remark  of 
mine,  and  her  reply  was  quite  natural  and  spontapeous." 

"  But  it  was  rather  in  censure  of  me,  was  it  not?  " 

"  No,  it  cannot  be  put  in  that  manner.  She  hinted  at 
lovers'  quarrels."  • 

*'  Nonsense,"  said  Philip ;  "  we  have  had  no  quarrel." 

"  The  countess  had  detained  you,  and  she  was  alone 
with  you  at  the  studio  ?  " 

"  Of  course  she  was." 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  a09 

"  Did  you  do  much  work,  Phil  ?  "  his  mother  asked, 
with  a  humorous  twinkle  in  her  eye. 

"  Not  much,"  said  Philip,  smiling  in  spite  of  himself. 

"  You  talked  a  good  deal,  I  make  no  doubt." 

"  We  had  some  conversation,  of  course.* 

"  She  has  wonderful  eyes  ?  " 

"  She  has  ! " 

"  And  hair  that  Titian  might  have  painted — you  said  so 
last  night  ?  " 

"  It  is  true." 

"  And  her  voice,  a  sympathetic  voice — eh  ?  I  know 
you,  Philip ;  your  father  was  just  the  same  :  he  admired 
red  hair  and  violet  eyes,  and  had  as  sharp  an  instinct  for 
a  pretty  woman  as  any  man  in  the  world,  God  rest  him, 
and  one  of  the  kindest  fellows  that  ever  broke  bread." 

"  Of  course  he  had  an  eye  for  beauty,  mother,"  said 
Philip,  rising  from  his  chair  by  her  side,  taking  her  face 
in  both  his  hands,  and  kissing  her  heartily. 

"  Well,  that's  all  I've  got  to  say,"  went  on  his  mother, 
after  kissing  him  in  return,  "  except  that  I  think  Miss 
Norcott  the  most  desirable  match  you  could  possibly 
make — sweet,  pretty,  admires  you,  and  a  good  income 
well  invested  and  securely  settled.  If  your  father  had 
settled  the  whole  of  his  fortune  on  me  before  he  lost  half 
of  it  on  that  horrid  exhibition,  we  would  not  have  had  to 
consider  these  vulgar  questions  of  money.  I  only  wish  I 
could  go  to  Italy  with  you,  but  I  am  glad  you  are  going,  it 
puts  an  end  at  all  events  to  the  possibility  of  any  non- 
sense in  that  Russian  quarter.  I  should  hate  a  Russian 
alliance^  just  as  much  as  the  English  Parliament  would, 
even  if  you  had  not  to  change  your  religion  for  it  j  if  I  am 
not  much  mistaken  the  countess  is  a  Jewess,  and  if  the 
Forsyths  cling  to  anything,  it  has  always  been — so  your 
poor  father  told  me — to  their  Protestant  faith." 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  said  Philip,  but  the  fact  of  his  mother 

U 


flio  By  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

making  so  much  of  the  countess  also  set  the  young  man 
thinking  about  her  afresh,  and  with  just  a  scintillation  of 
something  like  a  chivalric  sense  of  duty  in  regard  to  the 
defence  of  persons  accused  in  their  absence. 

But  when  he  gave  an  arm  to  Dolly  and  an  arm  to  Mrs. 
Milbanke,  and  followed  his  mother  and  Walter  in  to 
dinner  soon  afterwards  at  We?  bury  Lodge,  he  was  quite 
at  his  ease  again,  and  the  countess  might  have  been  in 
Paris  or  St.  Petersburg  or  anywhere  else  for  all  he  cared ; 
you.  see  it  was  rather  a  convenient  disposition,  Philip's  ; 
and  yet  he  had  the  quality  of  constancy  too,  no  doubt, 
once  it  was  fairly  invoked. 

Dolly,  in  the  daintiest  of  dinner  gowns,  considered  with 
due  regard  to  the  tone  and  style  of  her  sister's  dress,  and 
also  taking  into  artistic  account  the  surrounding  decora- 
tions, looked  divine.  Mrs.  Milbanke  was  in  her  best 
form.  Walter  was  genial  as  host  could  possibly  be  ;  and 
Lady  Forsyth,  in  black  Irish  poplin  (she  was  mindful  of 
her  country  in  everything  she  did,  thought,  or  wore),  with 
her  emeralds  and  her  shamrock,  a  handsome  example  of 
the  British  old  lady  j  fair,  well-nurtured,  with  long,  white 
hands,  grey  hair  and  plenty  of  it,  a  voice  that  was  still 
young,  and  a  natural,  easy  gracefulness,  that  did  not  ape 
youth,  either  in  dress  or  manners  ! 

The  Italian  trip  was  discussed  at  length  over  dinner, 
and  Philip  began  to  find  himself  positively  yearning  to  be 
off.  Venice  had  always  been  to  him  like  a  fairy  tale  of 
mediaeval  romance,  with  a  floating  city  in  it ;  with  cos- 
tumes of  Oriental  loveliness,  and  with  warriors  of  Oriental 
picturesqueness  and  Anglican  valor  ;  with  women  golden- 
haired,  violet-eyed,  and  with  that  Venetian  form  of  mouth 
that  was  mad*^  for  love  and  pictures.  He  had  seen  with 
his  dreaming  eyes  the  brown  and  yellow  sails  on  the 
many-hued  lagoons,  and  he  had  heard  the  tell-tale  whis- 
perings of  the  outgoing  sea  as  it  slipped  by  the  gorgeous 
palaces  on  moonlight  nights.     There  was  only  one  break 


£y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  Ml 

in  the  perfect  romance  and  beauty  of  his  idealization  of 
the  city  of  the  sea,  and  that  was  to  his  mind  the  impos- 
sibility of  telling  its  story  on  canvas.  Turner  had  sug- 
gested it,  Canaletti  had  tried  to  give  it  all  its  realistic 
beauty,  but  even  these  masters  did  not  rise  to  the  pro- 
saic muse  of  Rogers,  whose  lines  you  could  treat  as 
texts  to  build  palaces  upon,  and  set  to  dreams  of  sea 
and  sky  and  old  romance.  Philip  was  a  poet  in  sentiment 
and  feeling,  and  Chetwynd,  his  friend  and  art-adviser, 
believed  he  would  one  day  bring  a  noble  creative  power 
into  his  work  ;  at  present  Philip  was  rather  embarrassed 
with  something  like  a  material  interpretation  of  the  poet 
according  to  Festus — poets  are  all  who  love,  who  feel 
great  truths  and  tell  them — and  the  truth  of  truths  is  love ; 
and  he  made  *ip  his  mind  to  love  Dolly  with  all  his  heart, 
and  if  Mrs.  Milbanke  had  had  any  doubts  previously 
about  Philip's  devotion  to  Dolly  they  were  all  dispelled  on 
this  evening. 

Philip  had  even  astonished  and  delighted  his  mother  by 
the  earnest  and  even  enthusiastic  efforts  he  made  to  please 
his  betrothed  and  to  shine  in  the  eyes  of  her  family.  One 
says  family  without  considering  it  necessary  to  bring  in 
Dolly *s  father  and  mother,  who  lived  at  Norwood  in  a* 
qr;;<»t  suburban  way,  two  old  people  with  their  old  servants, 
and  their  old-fashioned  ways,  and  with  whom  Dolly  spent 
some  of  her  time,  who  occasionally  visited  at  Westbury 
Lodge ;  but  they  considered  their  day  was  over ;  they  had 
brought  up  a  family  of  three,  well  and  successfully  ;  their 
eldest  son  was  a  Judge  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  India, 
and  their  two  daughters  were  the  happy  sisters  of  this 
truthful  narrative  ;  and  this  is  all  that  it  is  necessary  to 
say  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Norcott,  very  worthy  and  well-to-do, 
kind,  pleasant  people,  whom  Lady  Forsyth  expressed  a 
desire  to  call  upon,  and  to  see  whom  Mrs.  Milbanke  pro- 
mised to  drive  to  Norwood  any  dav  Lady  Forsyth  pleased. 


MS  BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

Her  father  and  mother  had  no  special  day,  but  were  always 
at  home  to  their  friends  every  day  ;  and  her  father's  cook 
was  good  enough  even  for  Walter ;  so  no  more  need  be 
said  as  to  the  Norwood  hospitality. 

As  the  narrator  has  already  remarked,  Philip,  on  this 
pleasant  occasion,  did  all  he  could  to  make  himself  agree- 
able. He  even  sung  those  little  lullaby  German  songs  in 
which  his  studio  friends  always  found  a  special  charm. 
He  also  told  the  several  little  Russian  stories  which  be- 
longed to  a  mythical  age  of  tradition,  of  which  the  Tartars 
might  hardly  have  been  suspected  ;  and  Dolly  discovered 
that  Philip  had  moire  accomplishments  than  she  had  sus- 
pected— a  declaration  which  his  mother  capped  by  regret- 
ting they  had  not  a  guitar  at  Westbury  Lodge,  an  omission 
which  Mrs.  Milbanke  promised  to  remedy  the  very  next 
day. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Lady  Forsyth,  "  these  little  German 
ditties  should  be  sung  either  to  the  guitar  or  zither,  and 
Philip  is  quite  a  master  on  both." 

"  Nonsense,  mother  I  And  besides,  I  have  not  seen 
either  guitar  or  zither  for  months." 

"  My  dear  Philip,"  said  Walter,  "  we  will  have  both  on 
the  Grand  Canal ;  we  will  be  our  own  galugenti ;  we  can 
already  sing  *  Finiculi,  Finicula,'  can  we  not,  Dolly  ?  " 

Dolly  smiled,  and  Walter  sat  down  to  the  piano. 

"  Come,  Jenny,"  he  said.  "  When  first  we  heard  this 
song  and  chorus,  floating  as  we  were  by  moonlight  along 
the  canal  towards  the  quay,  we  all  fell  madly  in  love  with 
it ;  tried  to  get  the  song  in  Venice,  tried  in  Milan,  tried  in 
Paris.  Get  everything  in  London  ;  only  one  place  in  the 
world  where  you  can  get  everything.  You  must  join  us, 
Philip."  And  Walter,  in  a  light  but  effective  tenor  voice, 
led  off  with  the  solo,  and*  the  chorus  followed  ;  and  Lady 
Forsyth  said  she  would  certainly  keep  this  performance  in 
view  for  her  next  charitable  concert  in  aid  of  the  Irish 


BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  213 

distress  in  her  own  sweet  native  vale  of  Acushla.  And 
so  the  evening  passed  away  with  music,  love,  and  pleasant 
talk  ,  and  the  Venetian  trip  and  studio,  and  the  future  of 
Philip  looked  as  rosy  as  his  mother  and  their  dearest 
belongings  could  desire. 


CHAPTER  XXVIIL 

THE  COUNTESS,  THE  JEWS,  AND  THE  GONDOLIER. 

But  Lady  Stravensky  had  to  be  reckoned  with  in  the  Phi- 
lip and  Dolly  business.  The  Jewish  woman  of  Czarovna 
held  a  brief  from  Fate  in  regard  to  Lady  Forsyth's  pleasant 
calculations  of  matrimonial  happiness  and  prosperity  for 
her  son.  None  of  them  knew  or  suspected  how  nearly  the 
fortunes  of  the  countess  touched  theirs.  It  was  a  bad  day 
for  Philip  when  he  saw  that  face  at  the  Opera.  How  far 
it  was  bad  for  Dolly  and  her  sister  Jenny,  for  Walter  Mil- 
banke  and  other  persons  in  this  drama  of  life,  remains  to 
be  seen.  The  narrator  is  perfectly  well  aware  what  is  to 
happen  to  Philip,  and  what  must  be  the  end  of  the  coun- 
tess. 

These  things  are  foreshadowed  by  those  who  read  be- 
tween the  lines  as  well  as  on  them.  But  Dolly  Norcott 
floats  gaily  along  the  stream,  and  who  knows  where  she 
shall  find  a  port,  or  what  it  will  be  like  ?  She  has  charm- 
ing qualities.  One  would  like  her  to  be  happy.  For  that 
matter,  Philip  Forsyth  is  not  undeserving  of  good  fortune, 
but  surely  he  is  destined  to  have  trouble.  He  dreams 
dreams.  He  mixes  his  professional  ambition  with  his  love. 
He  is  not  stable.  His  impulses  are  fine.  He  is  constant 
while  he  is  with  Dolly  ;  but  on  his  way  home  he'  sees 
visions  of  the  poetic  face  of  the  countess,  her  violet  eyes, 
her  deep-red  hair.     She  is  the  central  figure  of  his  unwrit- 


>!♦  ^y  ORDER  OF  TI/E  CTAR, 

ten  romances,  the  heroine  of  his  unpainted  pictures.  And 
just  as  a  certain  set  of  people  go  mad  over  Ibsen's  unwhole- 
some plays,  so  Philip  was  going  mad  over  the  aspirations 
of  young  Russia,  checked  for  the  moment  by  the  shadow  of 
the  Countess  Stravensky,  whom  he  regarded  as  one  of 
those  accidental  endowments  of  birth  which  belong  to  a 
bad  cause  as  if  in  fatal  mockery  of  heaven. 

When  Philip  was  with  Dolly,  the  pretty  English  girl  had 
it  all  her  own  way  ;  when  he  thought  of  the  foreign  coun- 
tess, ten  years  his  senior,  as  his  mother  had  reminded  him, 
his  pulse  rose  and  his  face  flushed.  He  put  these  physical 
manifestations  down  to  ambition,  to  art  fervor,  to  a  name- 
less something  that  suggested  destiny.  This  did  not 
argue  well  for  the  domestic  happiness  of  DoHy  Norcott 
when  she  should  be  Mrs.  Philip  Forsyth. 

While  it  is  placed  on  record  that  the  Countess  Stra- 
vensky had  to  be  reckoned  with,  in  the  warp  and  woof  of 
the  lives  of  Dolly  and  Philip,  in  the  plans  of  Lady  Forsyth 
and  the  pretty  sisterly  intrigues  of  Mrs.  Milbanke,  let  it 
not  be  understood  that  our  unhappy  queen  of  the  ghetto 
had  any  desire  or  intention  to  interfere  with  the  matri- 
monial or  worldly  prospects  of  Philip  Forsyth,  except  in 
so  far  as  she  might  help  him  on  his  way.  He  had  deeply 
impressed  her.  For  a  moment  he  had  reawakened  feel- 
ings which  had  been  dead  since  her  love,  her  best  instincts, 
her  womanliness,  her  faith  in  heaven,  her  hope  in  the  great 
Father,  had  been  literally  cut  out  of  her  heart  and  soul  by 
the  Russian  knout.  It  was  only  for  a  moment ;  and  in 
that  moment  she  saw  herself  an  innocent  girl  sitting  at  the 
feet  of  her  lover  in  the  peaceful  home  of  her  childhood. 
In  that  moment  the  perfume  of  a  lovely  past  fell  around 
her  ;  and  she  gazed  upon  the  young  artist,  who  had  Lo- 
sinski'^s  eyes  and  hair,  and  Losinski's  voice  and  gait.  As 
the  mist  cleared,  it  came  to  her  to  think  that  this  was  but 
a  vision  intended  by  Fate  to  whet  her  appetite  of  ven- 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  aij 

geance — a  whisper  from  the  red  grave  of  the  murdered 
rabbi.  Then  she  remembered  who  and  what  she  was ;  the 
outrage  of  the  governor  Petronovitch ;  and  with  that 
memory  came  grateful  recollections  of  the  devotion  of  Stra- 
vensky,  who  in  his  Jieart  had  loved  the  beautiful  maid  of 
the  ghetto,  and  in  his  age,  stricken  with  death,  had 
endowed  her  with  his  name,  and  combined  with  hers  his 
own  passion  of  vengeance,  and  his  aspirations  for  a  free 
Russia.  Anna's  interview  with  Philip  Forsyth  had  for  tl^e 
moment  given  a  tone  of  sentiment  to  her  otherwise  rugged 
ambition  when  she  found  herself  all  suddenly  in  love  with 
him,  to  discover  as  suddenly  that  it  was  love  by  proxy 
the  revival  of  a  passion  that  belonged  to  the  dead.  But 
the  passing  weakness  over  the  retrospect  that  had  come  into 
her  reflecticm  now  tended  to  strengthen  the  arm  that  was 
rather  made  for  loving  embraces  than  to  wield  the  ven- 
geance of  a  conspiracy.  Fate  has  its  own  inscrutable 
purposes  that  make  havoc  with  every  human  intention, 
and  provide  perpetual  surprises  for  those  who  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  they  can  no  longer  be  astonished. 

Lady  Forsyth  understood  that  the  Countess  Stravensky 
had  gone  to  Paris  en  route  for  St.  Petersburg,  but  this  was 
not  the  fact.  Ferrari  had  traveled  to  the  gay  city  alone. 
It  was  seldom  that  he  left  the  side  of  the  countess,  whom 
he  served  with  the  devotion  of  a  slave,  but  with  the  au- 
thority also  of  a  member  of  the  same  band  of  Russian 
regenerators.  She  had  no  wish  to  stray  from  the  patriotic 
path  upon  which  they  traveled  together ;  and  if  she  had, 
it  would  have  been  the  duty  of  her  secretary  to  hold  her  to 
her  bonds.  Immediately  after  Lady  Forsyth's  "  At  Home," 
Ferrari  had  sudden  business  in  Paris  and  Venice ;  and  the 
countess  withdrew  to  an  almost  equally  foreign  country  in 
London,  namely,  to  Soho,  an  English  land  of  exiles,  con- 
spirators, and  Nihilistic  wire-pullers,  in  the  heart  of  a 
peaceful  metropolis. 


ai6  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

While  Ferrari  had  many  disguises,  the  countess  had  only 
two,  and  they  were  hers  by  right ;  they  infringed  upon  the 
personality  of  no  other  being  ;  she  was  the  countess,  and 
she  was  Anna  Klosstock.  As  the  countess,  she  was 
what  we  have  seen,  a  lady  of  position,  recognized  by  the 
Russian  Court,  and  in  the  very  highest  European  society. 
As  Anna  Klosstock,  she  was  the  friend  and  accomplice  of 
that  very  Brotherhood  of  which  Ferrari  had  spoken  to  the 
count  on  that  never-to-be-forgotten  day,  when  he  had 
ridden  into  Czarovna  to  see  if  he  could  be  of  any  assist- 
ance to  the  Klosstocks  and  their  co-religionists.  At  the  time 
when  Philip  was  singing  his  lullaby  ditties  at  Westbury 
Lodge,  Anna  Klosstock,  in  the  guise  of  a  poor  Jewess,  was 
sitting  in  council  with  three  members  of  the  Brotherhood, 
and  they  were  congratulating  themselves  upon  the  vast 
extension  of  the  military  conspiracy  which  had  that  day  been 
chronicled  in  the  English  papers ;  the  fact  that  the  plot 
had  been  discovered  was  atoned  for  by  the  proof  of  its 
immense  ramifications  all  over  the  Empire. 

"  You  are  a  Russian  born,  Paul,"  said  Anna,  addressing 
one  of  the  three,  a  tall,  picturesque-looking  man  of  fifty, 
muscular,  with  a  flat  face,  sallow  complexion,  fiery  eyes, 
gray  hair,  and  a  mouth  that  seemed  to  smile  on  one  side 
of  his  face  and  sneer  on  the  other ;  "  you  were  born  in 
Russia,  in  Moscow  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sister ;  my  father  was  bom  there,  and  my  mother 
too,  and  there  were  five  of  us  in  family." 

"  And  you  are  the  only  one  left  ?  " 

"  That  is  so." 

"  Siberia  and  the  knout  only  spared  you  because  you  got 
away  ?  " 

"  If  there  is  work  to  do  it  is  not  necessary  to  remind  me 
of  these  things  ;  I  never  forget  them,  nor  my  oaths — nor 
my  pleasure." 

At  this  last  remark  both  sides  of  his  mouth  seemed  to 
smile. 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR  ii; 

"  You  know  Venice  ?  "  asked  Anna  with  the  manner  of 
one  who  repeats  a  fact  and  invites  information  upon  it. 

"  I  was  there  with  our  brother  Ferrari  for  three  years." 

"  You  were  a  gondolier  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  He  was  a  merchant?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  He  employed  yoa  ?  • 

"  Yes." 

"  You  respect  and  honor  Km  apart  ftoxn  your  oath  ?  " 

♦«  Yes." 

"  As  friend  and  chief?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  You  have  friends  in  Venice  ?  " 

"  One."  • 

"He  can  be  trusted?" 

"Yes." 

"  A  gondolier?  ** 

"Yes." 

"  You  will  leave  London  by  the  next  train,  and  boat  for 
Venice  ?  " 
•   "Yes." 

"  The  King  of  Italy  is  to  be  received  in  state  by  the 
municipality.  The  Countess  Stravensky  will  be  your  mis- 
tress in  the  procession  of  boats.  She  will  be  attended  by 
her  secretary,  Signor  Ferrari ;  you  and  your  friend  will  be 
her  gondoliers ;  your  uniform  red,  the  decoration  of  your 
gondola  red ;  you  will  await  the  countess  by  the  Pesaro 
Palace  until  she  makes  her  appearance ;  the  old  watchword ; 
your  rendezvous  with  Ferrari  will  be  at  the  little  hotel  of 
the  Beau  Rivage.  In  three  days  hence  you  will  be  there  j 
he  will  have  arrived  ;  seek  him  and  know  the  rest." 

"  I  shall,"  said  Paul,  holding  out  his  hand  for  the  bank- 
notes which  Anna  drew  from  the  pocket  of  her  black 
dress. 


aiS  BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

"  Withen  ten  days  Ferrari  may  expect  me.  The  Roya! 
function  which  the  Countess  Stravensky  is  to  attend,  and 
at  which  General  Petronovitch  is  to  be  present,  will  take 
place  two  days  after  my  arrival,  when  it  will  be  shown  that 
the  ann  of  the  Brotherhood  is  strong  and  long-reaching.** 

The  double  smile  came  into  Paul's  sallow  face,  and  the 
two  other  men  remarked  in  different  words,  but  with  the 
same  meaning,  that  the  patriots  needed  encouragement. 

"  You  have  seen  a  detective  from  Scotland  Yard?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Paul. 

"  About  the  visit  of  the  German  princes  ?  " 

'*  Yes.  We  are  safe  in  our  asylum  here  so  long  as  we 
respect  it ;  that  was  the  police  message.' 

"  All  must  be  free  to  come  and  go,  eh  ?  '* 

"That  is  so.  Anything  happening  to  any  one  of 
England's  guests,  and  we  shall  be  cleared  out.** 

"  So  far  as  we  can,  let  us  obey  the  mandate ;  it  is  just 
Any  other  reports  ?  ** 

"  None.** 

"  Good-night** 

During  the  next  two  or  three  hours,  Anna  Klosstock 
made  her  way  through  certai\  n.alodorous  quarters  of  the 
East  End,  where  the  sweater  »  .  non  held  his  grim  court ; 
among  Polish  and  other  Jews,  refugees,  paupers — miser- 
ables  of  all  kinds. 

Wherever  her  shadow  fell  upon  them,  it  brought  com- 
fort Anna  Klosstock  was  an  angel  in  these  benighted 
regions.  She  spoke  the  language  of  the  sufferers.  They 
told  her  their  woes  j  how  they  had  been  shipped  from  their 
native  land  like  slaves  ;  how  they  arrived  in  London  pen- 
niless, friendless ;  how  they  labored  night  and  day  for  bread 
and  shelter  ;  and  their  chief  complaints  were  against  their 
co-religionists.  As  a  rule,  the  Jew  is  good  to  his  people  ; 
but  in  London,  the  English  Jew  seems  to  take  advantage 
of  his  foreign  brother ;  the  sweated  and  the  sweater  in  the 


3^y  ORDER  OF  TffE  CZAR.  dfg 

East  End  are  mostly  Jews.  Why  England  should  allow 
these  waifs  and  strays  to  be  cast  penniless  upon  her  shores, 
was  one  of  the  questions  that  puzzled  Anna  in  her  studies 
of  English  freedom.  But  she  did  not  stay  to  debate  these 
or  any  other  questions,  she  only  remembered  the  sufferings 
of  her  race,  and  in  whatever  city  she  found  herself  she 
sought  out  poor  and  wretched  Jews,  and  gave  them  her 
bounty  with  words  of  sympathy  and  hope,  "  for  surely/* 
she  said,  *^  our  term  of  probation  is  drawing  to  a  close, 
and  the  day  of  promise  is  at  hand." 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE   HEART  OF    A   MAN    IS   DECEITFUL, 

It  is  not  for  the  author  of  this  history  of  Love  and  Adven- 
ture to  attack  or  defend  hiS  hero.  Philip  Forsyth  will 
fulfil  his  destiny,  whatever  his  biographer  or  the  reader 
may  have  to  say  to  it.  He  is  not  the  first  who  might  have 
exclaimed  in  regard  to  two  women,  **  How  happy  could  I 
be  with  either,  where  t'other  dear  charmer  away."  Or,  at 
all  events,  not  the  first  who  had  thought  in  this  wise  of 
two  desirable  ladies. 

The  psychological  novelist,  or  the  student  of  physical 
and  spiritual  motives  in  man,  would  no  doubt  bend  his 
intellectual  energies  upon  an  investigation  of  the  dif- 
ference between  the  influence  of  the  countess  and  that 
of  Dolly  Norcott  on  the  sentiments  and  emotions  of  the 
young  and  impressionable  artist.  Did  he  love  the  coun- 
tess? And  were  his  feelings  toward  Dolly  the  mere 
outcome  of  passion  ?  Were  the  Westbury  Lodge  influ- 
ences physical  and  worldly,  and  the  Russian  impressions 
spiritual  and  divine  ?  Or  vice  versa  f  Philip,  it  is  plain, 
stoqd,  as  between  the  countess  and  Dolly,  somewhat  in  the 


ii6  BY  ORDER  OP  THE  CZaR. 

position  of  Garrick  between  Tragedy  and  Comedy,  though 
he  would  not  have  admitted  it  to  himself.  If  he  had  never 
seen  the  Countess  Stravensky,  he  might  have  had  a  calm, 
domestic  career  with  Dolly  Norcott ;  but  the  Russian 
Jewess  exercised  a  strange  fascination  upon  him,  and  he 
upon  her.  To  what  extent  they  were  each  under  the 
other's  influence  was  made  clear  to  them,  as  it  will  be  to 
us,  under  somewhat  prosaic  circumstances.  The  Mil- 
bankes  had  started  for  Venice  vi&  Paris,  and  had  left  it  for 
Philip  to  join  them  at  the  little  hotel  in  the  Rue  Castig- 
lione,  where  Walter  Milbanke  had  taken  a  very  pleasant 
suite  of  rooms.  Philip  had  gone  down  to  Charing  Cross 
close  upon  train  time,  and  had  found  every  seat  occupied, 
except  one  in  a  coupi  nearly  at  the  end  of  the  train,  upon 
which  coupi  the  forbidding  notice  "  Engaged  "  was  very 
prominently  displayed. 

As  Fate  would  have  it,  the  coupi  was  occupied  by  the 
Countess  Stravensky,  and  as  if  that  same  watchful  fate  had 
been  more  than  usually  active  in  the  interests  of  Anna  and 
Philip,  the  lady  was  thinking  of  the  person  who  was  seek- 
ing a  seat  in  the  Dover  express.  The  countess  had  com- 
posed herself  to  a  journey  of  silent  thought.  She  was 
alone.  Her  maid  was  in  a  second-class  carriage,  having  a 
flirtation  with  Ferrari's  servant,  for  Ferrari  deemed  it 
necessary  to  be  attended  on  occasion,  for  appearances 
and  conveniences,  by  a  valet  of  knowledge  and  experience. 
The  countess,  however  ostentatious  her  establishments  in 
Russia  or  Paris,  only  confided  in  one  maid,  who  found  her 
service  both  profitable  and  pleasant. 

The  queen  of  the  ghetto  was  troubled  with  sensation! 
that  were  entirely  new  to  her  since  the  tragic  days  of 
Czarovna.  It  was  a  relief  from  the  dark  and  hypocritical 
ways  of  her  woman's  life  to  cherish  the  gleam  of  sunshine 
that  had  somehow  crept  into  her  heart  with  her  visit  to 
Philip  Forsyth's  studio.    Though  she  might  never  see  the 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZJR,  321 

young  artist  again,  she  would  cherish  his  memory ;  and 
while  she  was  feeling  this  rather  than  expressing  it,  even 
to  herself,  it  came  into  her  mind  to  think  that  Fate  was 
demanding  another  sacrifice  from  her  in  this  consent  to 
part  from  him.  She  knew  that  nothing  good  could  come 
of  her  association  with  him  ;  that  if  there  were  love  pas- 
sages between  them,  they  could  only  be  for  her  a  passing 
relaxation  of  thought,  the  chief  charm  of  which  would  be 
to  try  and  dream  herself  back  again  into  the  arms  of 
Losinski  in  that  far-off  time  when  she  was  betrothed  to 
him.  But  it  wrs  strange,  she  thought,  that  on  the  eve  of 
seeing,  as  it  were,  the  other  Losinski,  she  should  be  on  her 
way  to  that  city  of  the  sea  they  had  talked  of  and  arranged 
to  visit  together,  that  city  which  Losinski  loved,  which 
Ferrari  knew  so  well,  where  Jew  an  Gentile  were  friends, 
as  they  were  in  London,  where  the  ghetto  was  a  name 
merely,  and  where  "  the  badge  of  the  tribe,"  if  worn  at  all, 
was  only  treated  as  an  ornament. 

It  was  a  pleasant  day.  The  sun  was  shining  brightly 
even  into  Charing  Cross  Station,  and  the  countess,  laying 
aside  the  light  wrap  which  her  maid  had  handed  to  her, 
was  reclining  in  the  furthest  corner  of  her  coupi,  given 
over  to  her  reflections,  and  her  reflections,  as  we  have 
seen,  were  more  particularly  occupied  with  Philip  Forsyth, 
with  whom,  had  circumstances  permitted,  she  could  have 
fallen  desperately  in  love.  This  thought  gave  her  pain 
and  pleasure  j  but  she  suffered  the  pain  for  the  sake  of  the 
little  sweetness  of  fancy  that  took  off  the  sharp  edge  of  the 
bitter.  She  contemplated  from  the  carriage  window  the 
bustle  of  the  station  without  seeing  it.  Her  thoug!its  were 
in  that  Primrose  Hill  studio,  and  her  fancy  had  trans- 
planted it  to  the  head  of  the  street  in  the  Jewish  quarters 
of  Czarovna.  Right  in  the  midst  of  her  fanciful  picture  of 
the  past  and  the  present,  there  was  suddenly  interposed 
the  living  figure  of  the  young  artist.     For  a  moment  she 


aas  Sy  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.    . 

could  not  realize  the  truth  of  it,  starting  up  as  it  did 
amidst  the  prosaic  surroundings  of  the  railway  platform,  oi 
which  she  now  became  conscious. 

With  the  persistence  that  belongs  to  railway  travelers 
in  search  of  seats  two  minutes  before  the  train  starts, 
Philip  looked  longingly  and  inquisitively  into  the  engaged 
compartment,  and  his  eyes  met  those  of  the  occupier.  He 
stood  at  the  window  as  if  transfixed.  She  smiled  at  him 
a  dreamy  recognition,  and  then  suddenly  came  forward, 
and  at  a  wave  of  her  white  hand  the  guard  opened  the 
carriage  door.  Philip  stepped  inside,  and  the  next  moment 
the  Dover  express  was  gliding  on  its  way. 

"  Why,  my  dear  countess,"  exclaimed  Philip,  "  what  a 
delightful  surprise  !  I  thought  you  were  in  St.  Petersburg, 
How  glad  I  am  that  I  was  late,  and  could  not  find  a  seat. 
How  very  kind  of  you  to  take  pity  on  me." 

"  I  shall  be  rewarded  for  my  compassion  in  your  plea- 
sant companionship." 

She  looked  at  him,  as  she  spoke,  with  what  seemed  to 
Philip  to  be  an  inviting  sympathy  of  interest.  He  felt  the 
Dlood  rush  into  his  cheeks. 

"  You  are  very  good,"  he  stammered ;  "  and  so  is  Fate. 
I  don't  know  what  I  have  done  to  be  so  highly  favored." 

"  By  Fate  ?  "  she  said,  interrogatively. 

"  By  Fate,"  said  Philip,  "  and  by  you." 

**  Fate  and  me,"  she  said  thoughtfully,  and  with  her 
pretty  accent,  '*  what  a  partnership  \  but  it  is  a  strange 
world,  and  it  might  be  Fate  that  brought  us  together  here 
in  this  carriage,  without  our  consent  or  our  interposition." 

"  Fate  is  not  always  kind." 

"Is  it  kindness  to  bring  us  together  again  when  we  had 
parted  for  ever  ?  " 

"  Had  we  parted  for  ever  ?  "  Philip  asked. 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  the  countess. 

"  Did  you  hope  so  ?  "  he  asked. 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAtU  ttj 

«*  I  think  so." 

"Why?" 

"  For  many  reasons." 

«  Tell  me  one." 

"  Because  I  thought  you  were  more  interested  in  your 
model  than  in  your  picture." 

She  looked  at  him  steadily,  but  with  a  softness,  he 
thought,  of  expression  in  her  eyes.  His  heart  beat 
violently,  and  she  felt  a  strange  desire  to  give  herself  over 
to  the  spirit  of  memory  which  Philip  was  once  more  stir- 
ring within  her.  In  a  navy-blue  serge  suit,  with  a  white 
silk  handkerchief  tied  loosely  about  his  neck,  his  deep, 
black  eyes  ablaze  with  his  unconcealed  passion,  his  black 
hair  hanging  about  his  temples,  Anna  saw  again  her  love 
of  Czarovna,  could  have  sworn  she  heard  his  voice  ;  and 
in  Philip's  trembling  accents  she  felt  the  thrill  of  an  old 
love.  She  had  experienced  so  much  suffering  in  the  world 
that  Fate  seemed  to  be  whispering  in  her  ear,  "  Why  suffer 
always,  why  cast  aside  this  chance  of  happiness  ?  Remem- 
ber of  the  past  on!y  that  which  is  pleasant."  And  she 
leaned  back  on  the  soft  cushions,  and  gazed  at  the  flashing 
eyes  of  the  young  painter,  who  at  that  moment  forgot 
everything,  everybody,  but  the  woman  who  sat  before  him, 
to  his  mind  a  living  dream  of  beauty. 

"  My  dear  countess  ! "  he  exclaimed. 

She  smiled  and  gazed  at  him.  A  blush  seemed  to 
steal  into  her  pale  cheeks.  Her  lips  parted  as  if  she  were 
about  to  speak. 

"  My  love  1 "  he  said,  encouraged  by  her  tender  looks, 
and  stealing  to  her  side  he  took  her  hand. 

She  neither  moved  nor  spoke.  He  pressed  her  hand  to 
his  lips.  She  turned  her  face  towards  him.  There  were 
tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  love  you,  I  love  you  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

She  withdrew  her  hand  from  his  and  shuddered. 


324  Py  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

"  God  help  you,"  she  said,  "  and  forgive  me ;  if  He  does 
help — if  He  does  forgive,"  and  she  covered  her  eyes  with 
her  hands. 

Philip  only  repeated  '*  I  love  you,"  while  the  train  went 
gliding  along  through  green  meadows,  whitened  here  and 
there  with  the  first  blossoms  of  the  spring. 

"  You  roust  not  love  me,"  she  said  presently,  "  I  can  be 
to  you  nothing  more  than  a  memory,  not  even  a  friend." 

"  You  can,  you  must,"  replied  the  passionate  youth, 
utterly  oblivious  of  his  engagement  to  Dolly,  with  no 
thought  or  sense  or  feeling  but  what  belonged  to  the 
moment. 

"  I  wish  it  might  be,"  she  said,  struggling  against  her 
fate. 

"  From  the  first  moment  I  saw  you,"  he  exclaimed, 
stimulated  by  her  expressed  wish  "  that  it  might  be,"  and 
with  the  belief  that  to  love  or  passion  everything  is  pos- 
sible, "  on.  that  night  at  the  opera,  I  adored  you ;  from 
this  happy  day  forth  I  am  your  slave  !  " 

"  Forbear ! "  she  said.  "  It  will  not  prove  a  happy  day. 
I  would  love  you  if  I  could,  if  I  dared.  It  is  impossible. 
Our  destinies  are  as  far  asunder  as  the  poles." 

"  They  shall  be  brought  together,"  he  replied  passion- 
ately, "  as  close  as  our  lips."  And  he  had  kissed  her  be- 
fore she  could  make  even  a  show  of  resistance. 

Then  there  was  a  pause,  but  she  let  the  hand  he  had 
seized  lie  passively  in  his ;  and  the  train  went  beating 
along  its  iron  way,  past  farm  and  station,  skirting  wood- 
lands and  pastures.  The  clouds  went  racing  along  too, 
and  Philip's  hot  blood  coursed  through  his  veins  in  sym^ 
pathy. 

He  stole  his  arm  about  her  waist,  as  no  man  had  since 
the  days  of  Losinski.  She  permitted  it,  forgetting  why 
she  had  at  first  shuddered  at  his  touch,  and  allowing  her- 
self to  drift  along  with  the  fpnd  Qn\brac^  and  honeyed  words 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  aaj 

of  her  lover,  who  was  beside  himself  with  the  success  of 
his  attack  upon  this  stately,  beautiful,  mysterious  beauty. 

Presently  she  drew  herself  away  from  him  and  assumed 
an  air  of  entire  self-possession. 

"  Philip,  I  hope  you  may  learn  to  forgive  me  for  this 
weakness,  this  temptation  to  forget  a  bitter  past,  in  an 
unlooked-for  visitation  of  sweetness.  Nay,  listen,  do  not 
speak.  You  are  young  and  impulsive.  You  will  have 
time  to  forget.  The  world  is  all  before  you,  full  of  glo- 
rious possibilities,  love,  fame,  happiness.  For  me,  there  is 
but  a  hard,  thorny  road,  and  I  must  tread  the  path  alone. 
If  you  could  know  all,  you  would  say  it  is  so  ;  you  would 
never  seek  to  alter  it ;  you  would  indeed  shudder  at  the 
depth  of  the  precipice  you  have  stood  upon  ;  stand  aghast 
at  the  escape  my  self-denial  gives  you,  for  I  could  love 
you;  yes,  not  alone  for  the  sake  of  the  past,  but  for 
your  own  ;  but — and  here  I  beg  you  to  take  note  of  my 
words — ^you  might  as  well  think  of  allying  yourself  with 
the  worst  woman  your  fancy  can  depict  as  with  me." 

"  You  are  saying  this  to  disenchant  me ;  you  love 
another :  or " 

"  I  am  not  saying  it  for  any  purpose  but  to  save  you 
and  myself  from  a  crime,  a  sin,  and  you  from  a  future 
of  humiliation.  I  do  not  love  anyone ;  I  am  a  widow  ; 
I  was  widowed  from  my  love  on  the  eve  of  my  marriage  ; 
I  was  only  a  girl,  and  there  are  sufferings  in  this  world 
worse  than  death,  humiliations  worse  than  the  gallows.'' 

Her  lips  quivered  as  she  sRpke,  and  the  expression  of 
terror  and  anger,  of  something  between  madness  and 
grief,  between  defiance  and  vengeance,  which  Philip  had 
noticed  in  that  face  at  the  opera,  seemed  to  convulse  her. 
All  this,  instead  of  discouraging  Philip,  stirred  in  him  the 
defiant  desire  for  some  opportunity  to  show  to  the  woman 
either  the  madness  or  the  sincerity  of  his  passion. 

"  I  care  not  what  you  are,  wh*t  ^o\\  \^\%  been,  wha* 


496  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

you  may  be — if  we  had  to  descend  into  the  bottomless  pit 
together,  I  love  you,  and  will  for  ever  and  ever  1 " 

"  You  are  mad,"  she  exclaimed. 

"  I  may  be." 

*'  You  are  mad,"  I  say ;  "  would  you  consort  with  « 
murderess  1 " 

"  You  are  none,**  he  replied,  with  a  lofty  smile. 

"  For  you  I  am  worse,"  she  iaid  ;  "  and  I  tell  you  now, 
my  dear,  misguided  friendj  that  this  love  of  yours,  of  mine 
if  you  will,  is  not  only  madness,  it  is  folly,  it  is  worse  ; " 
and  then  noticing  how  firm  was  his  madness,  how  impos- 
sible to  shake  it,  she  made  a  tremendous  sacrifice  of  her 
feelings,  her  pride,  everything  that  woman  holds  dear,  and 
whispered  in  his  ear,  "  What  is  worse  than  a  mur- 
deress, what  is  worse  than  anything  man  considers  bad 
in  the  woman  he  loves  ?  I  am  that !  yes,  I  am  that  I " 

"  My  God  1 "  the  boy  exclaimed,  moving  away  from 
Jier  in  horror,  "  is  it  true  ?  " 

"  It  is  true,"  she  said,  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  I  pity  you  from  my  heart,"  he  said,  "  I  pity  my- 
self." 

She  sobbed  or  affected  to  sob.  He  sat  silently,  stunned 
by  her  confession.  The  train  ran  along  just  as  smoothly, 
just  as  swiftly  as  before.  Neither  of  them  spoke  again 
for  some  time.  At  last,  secretly  congratulating  herself 
on  the  success  of  her  stratagem,  and  at  the  same  time 
stung  to  the  quick  that  he  should  believe  her,  Anna  said, 
♦'  And  now  let  us  be  a  man^nd  woman  of  the  world ;  what 
has  passed  between  us  is  our  secret ;  let  us  respect  it ;  let 
us  talk  no  more  of  love  ;  if  we  meet  again,  we  can  know 
each  other  as  persons  in  the  world,  you  can  know  me  or 
not  as  you  wish  ;  we  can  think  of  this  as  an  incident  of 
our  lives  in  which  there  was  a  little  sweet,  and  very  much 
bitter,  as  there  is  in  all  incidents  of  this  life ;  and  some 
day,  when  you  are  happy  with  your  honest  love  and  with 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  «; 

your  children  about  you,  and  you  are  a  great  painter,  you 
will  think  of  me  as  kindly  as  you  can ;  and  one  day  in 
that  future  you  shall,  if  it  interest  you,  know  my  life  all 
through  j  and  then  you  will  forgive  and  pity  me." 

"  As  I  do  now,"  safd  Philip  tenderly,  "  as  I  do  now.** 

Her  confession  had  done  its  work.  She  knew  it 
would.  She  had  reckoned  up  the  passionate  poetical 
nature  of  the  young  fellow  quite  truly.  There  is  one  sin 
which  not  the  most  romantic  lover  can  overlook ;  one 
crime  which  love  cannot  condone  in  the  object  of  its  wor- 
ship. But  Philip  was  in  a  miserable  state  of  mind ;  and 
in  his  misery  he  had  the  audacity  to  think  of  Dolly 
Norcott  for  the  first  time  since  he  had  encountered 
the  countess  at  Charing  Cross — so  selfish,  thoughtless, 
ungrateful  is  it  possible  for  the  heart  of  man  to  be. 
And  as  he  thought  of  her,  he  wished  the  woman  before 
him  was  as  good,  and  virtuous,  and  truly  lovable — a 
piece  of  ingratitude  which  only  a  master  in  the  analysis 
of  the  psychological  evolution  of  love  and  passion  can 
understand  or  excuse. 

"  Shall  we  meet  again  in  Paris  ?  "  Philip  asked,  as  the 
train  slowed  up  for  Dover. 

"  Not  by  appointment,"  she  answered,  "  and  it  would 
be  best  that  we  should  never  meet  again." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  to  think  of  you,"  he  said. 

"  Do  not  think  of  me,"  she  replied. 

"  I  will  not  believe  that  you  have  told  me  the  truth  j 
will  you  not  give  me  a  rendezvous  ?  " 

"  Not  now ;  at  some  other  time  I  will." 

"You  will?" 

"Yes." 

"  When  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.  You  may  hear  of  me  at  20,  Rue  de 
Bach ;  but  do  not  seek  to  find  me  ;  wait  until  I  write  to 
you  or  send  a  message  to  you.  I  know  where  to  address 
you.'* 


a28  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

**  But  I  am  leaving  London  for  a  month  or  twa" 

"  You  remain  in  Paris  ?  " 

"  No,  in  Venice," 

*'  In  Venice  1 "  she    repeated ;   but  he   did  not    notice 
the  expression  of  surprise  that  passed  over  her  face. 

"  My  address  there  will  be  the  Hotel  Beau  Rivage." 

"  The  Hotel  Beau  Rivage,"  she  repeated  slowly,  as 
her  maid  presented  herself  at  the  coupi.  The  countess, 
giving  her  hand  to  Philip,  said  "  Good-bye,"  to  which  he 
promptly  responded  : 

"  We  shall  meet  on  the  boat." 

"  Perhaps  not." 

"  In  Paris  then  ?  " 

"  Not  until  you  hear  from  me,"  she  said  firmly. 

"  But  it  is  au  revoir  ?  "  he  asked  appealihgly. 

**  Yes,  fl«  r^w/r/"  she  answered. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

PHILIP  TRIES  TO  FORGET. 

As  Philip  made  his  way  to  the  night  boat  for  Calais,  he 
found  himself  staggering  down  the  gangway.  The  inten- 
sity of  his  sensations  had  shaken  his  nerves.  He  felt  as 
if  he  had  just  come  out  of  a  fever,  as  indeed  he  had. 
Reaching  the  deck,  he  sat  down  to  recover  his  mental 
and  physical  equilibrium.  He  was  dazed.  He  remem- 
bered once  awaking  from  a  terrible  dream,  with  something 
like  a  similar  feeling  of  a  bitter  happiness,  a  sense  of 
wicked  joy,  pierced  with  the  sting  of  remorse.  PhiHp  sat 
on  the  deck,  staring  at  the  sky.  There  was  a  young 
ethereal  looking  moon.  He  saw  the  passengers  arriving, 
and  watched  them  and  their  luggage  being  thrust  aboard. 
They  seemed  to  roll  down  the  gangway  in  9,  confused 


^r  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  999 

It  was  a  lovely  night.    There  was  not  a  ripple  on  the 
water  by  the  quay,  nor  outside  the  bar.    He  wondered  if 
she  had  come  aboard,  or  if  she  would ;  wondered  with  a 
strange  feeling  of  curiosity;  and  one  moment  he  hoped- 
she  would  not,  and  the  next  he  hoped  she  would. 

All  at  once,  whea  he  thought  of  Dolly  Norcott,  he  felt 
wretched  ;  then  as  suddenly  a  sense  of  triumph  crept  into 
his  troubled  brain.  To  have  held  the  woman  of  the  opera 
in  his  arms  1  To  have  stirred  the  heart  of  the  woman 
with  that  sadly  beautiful,  inscrutable  face  I  To  have  her 
promise  that  they  should  nieet  again  1  To  have  her 
confession  that  there  had  been  a  time  when  she  could  have 
loved  him  !  This  was  tantamount  to  an  encouragement 
to  believe  that  there  might  be  a  time  in  the  future  when 
she  would  return  his  love  !  All  this  was  delightful ;  and 
yet  it  was  a  delight  that  he  felt  he  had  no  right  to  embrace. 
It  was  the  same  kind  of  delight  that  belonged  to  the  tragic 
bliss  of  Francesca  and  her  lover  in  the  story  ;  and  it  was 
wrong  j  his  was  a  worse  crime  then  theirs.  He  was  en- 
gaged to  be  married  to  a  sweet  and  innocent  girl.  On 
his  way  to  join  her,  he  had  entirely  and  sinfully  forgotten 
her.  He  experienced  a  sudden  contempt  for  himself.  For 
a  moment  it  occurred  to  him  to  reflect  whether  he  might 
not  be  justified  in  disappearing  altogether  from  the  sight 
of  both  women,  and  betake  himself  to  some  distant  comer 
of  the  globe,  the  world  forgetting,  by  the  world  forgot. 

The  pleasant  breeze  that  sprung  up  when  the  boat  was 
under  weigh,  refreshed  him,  and  he  paced  the  deck, 
steadied  with  a  modified  sense  of  the  enormity  of  his 
conduct.  He  began  to  philosophize  about  it,  and  to  find 
excuses  for  himself  A  man  is  not  responsible  for  the  out- 
burst of  these  sudden  attacks  of  passion,  especially  if  he 
has  been  endowed  by  nature  with  an  excess  of  feeling, 
with  the  temperament  of  the  poet,  and  who  has  had  no 
relf-restraining  influences  ^bou*  him,  no  mentor  to  check* 


il»  ^Y  ORhER  OF  THE  CZAti, 

his  exuberance  of  fancy,  none  except  Dick  Chetwynd, 
who  would,  Philip  felt  assured,  be  rather  inclined  to  regard 
a  severe  flirtation  as  something  that  might  happen  to 
*any  man,  given  the  opportunity.  Mrs.  Chetwynd  herself, 
Philip  thought,  as  he  drifted  into  this  exculpatory  vein, 
would  only  have  smiled  at  the  idea  of  his  making  love  to 
the  countess ;  and  his  mother  would  not  have  minded  it 
at  all  so  long  as  it  did  not  interfere  with  his  engagement 
to  Miss  Norcott. 

Whether  he  did  these  worthy  people  an  injustice  or  not, 
this  was  the  new  way  in  which  Philip's  thoughts  now 
began  to  sail  along  over  the  increasingly  calm  plain  c '  his 
mind,  just  as  the  moon  went  sailing  along  behind  the  ship. 

Presently  he  lighted  a  cigar,  went  below,  ordered  a  pint 
of  champagne  and  a  biscuit,  drank  the  former,  threw  the 
latter  bit  by  bit  into  the  sea  as  he  stood  by  the  gangway, 
pulling  himself  together,  as  the  phrase  is,  and  trying  to 
dismiss  from  his  memory  the  scene  in  the  railway  carriage ; 
and  yet  all  the  time  he  was  wondering  whether  the  countess 
was  aboard.  He  had,  in  that  vague,  unwatchful  condition 
previously  described,  observed  the  passengers  come  on 
deck,  and  he  had  not  seen  either  maid,  servant,  or  coun- 
tess. His  curiosity  was  piqued.  He  would  find  out  if 
her  ladyship  had  come  aboard.  He  did  find  out :  she  had 
not.  Satisfied  of  this,  he  became  more  contented  with 
his  position,  and  began  to  find  the  railway  adventure 
going  further  and  further  away  as  he  neared  the  French 
shore.  He  would  forget  it.  He  could  if  he  wished. 
And  he  could  all  the  more  so  if  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
be  true  to  Dolly ;  and  he  would  make  up  his  mind.  No 
good  could  come  of  his  intrigue  with  the  countess.  There 
was  some  mystery  behind  her.  A  scandal  perhaps.  She 
had  been  quite  emphatic  in  her  intimation  that  what  he 
desired  could  never  be.  And,  as  his  mother  said,  she 
Vas  ten  years  his  senior.    Moreover,  he  could  not  pursue 


SV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  43* 

the  impulse  that  had  made  him  rash  and  unscrupulous 
without  creating  a  scandal,  to  say  nothing  of  breaking 
Dolly's  heart,  perhaps,  and  making  no  end  of  trouble. 

Yes,  whatever  happened,  he  would  be  guided  by  what 
was  honorable  and  wise.  He  would  forget  the  countess, 
except  in  so  far  as  she  belonged  to  his  picture.  His 
memory  of  her  should  belong  only  to  that.  She  should 
be  for  him  an  artistic  dream.  'Greater  is  he  who  con- 
quereth  himself  than  he  who  conquereth  a  city.  He 
would  devote  himself  to  Dolly. 

If  Philip  had  been  called  upon  to  criticize  the  conduct 
of  someone  else  who  had  made  these  vows,  after  such  a 
lapse  of  memory  in  regard  to  his  fiancee,  he  would  pro* 
bably  have  said  it  was  all  very  well  to  go  on  protesting  in 
this  way  in  view  of  a  pleasant  time  with  Dolly,  the  othef 
dear  charmer  away  j  but  that  if  he  were  Dolly,  he  would 
not  feel  safe  of  the  permanent  fidelity  of  such  a  lover. 

Poor  Dolly  I  If  she  could  only  have  suspected,  much 
less  known,  what  had  happened  between  Philip  and  the 
countess  on  that  memorable  journey  to  Dover,  she,  with 
indignation  and  scorn,  would  have  relieved  Philip  of  his 
vows ;  for,  despite  the  worldly  streak  in  Dolly's  nature, 
she  had  a  true  woman's  good  opinion  of  herself."  If 
Philip  had  a  better  opinion  of  the  countess  or  of  any 
other  woman,  Philip  might  have  gone  over  to  that  other 
woman,  and  Dolly  would  have  professed  herself  glad  to 
be  rid  of  him,  however  much  she  might  have  secretly 
suffered. 

And  Jenny  I  Why,  Mrs.  Milbanke  would  have  made 
London  ring  with  his  unworthiness,  even  though  she 
would  have  felt  it  necessary  to  say  that  Dolly  broke  it 
off,  that  she  had  been  over-persuaded  to  accept  him  by 
her  family  and  friends,  while  really  not  caring  as  much  for 
him  as  a  woman  should  for  the  man  she  is  willing  to 
marry.    Jenny  would  have  kept  Dolly's  position  clear. 


a3J»  J^y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

but  at  the  same  time  she  would  have  "  made  it  hot "  foi 
Philip,  as  Sam  Selwyn  would  have  put  it. 

What,  by  the  way,  would  not  Sam  have  given  to  have 
had  the  encouragement  to  hope  which  a  knowledge  of 
Philip's  declaration  to  the  countess  would  have  war- 
ranted? If. he  could  only  have  had  the  assistance  of  Don 
Cleofas  of  the  two  sticks,  and  have  seen  the  shadow  of 
Philip's  insincerity  cast  forward  upon  the  path  which  now 
looked  so  certain  to  lead  to  Sam  being  one  day  invited  to 
the  wedding  reception  of  Dolly  and  Philip  Forsyth,  at 
Norwood  or  at  Westbury  Lodge  ! 

By  the  time  Ph^Uo  re^iched  Paris  he  had  contrived  to 
forget  a  great  deal  o.  yhat  had  transpired  during  the  day, 
or,  if  not  to  forget,  to  so  far  ignore  it  as  to  meet  Dolly  the 
liext  aorning  at  breakfast  in  the  cheeriest  holiday  frame 
of  mind.  And  she  looked  "  so  awfully  nice,  don't  you 
know,"  as  Swynford  would  have  said ;  so  fresh  and  sweet, 
so  paintable,  and  so  lovable  too,  as  Philip  said  to  himself. 
Mrs.  Milbanke  was  none  the  less  charming  in  her  matronly 
fashion.  Both  of  them  were  dressed  in  light  frocks,  sug- 
gesting a  pleasant  fussir.ess  of  frill  and  collar,  of  ribbon 
and  tabs,  of  dainty  flowers  at  the  neck  or  waist,  matching 
the  white  apartment  of  the  well-kept  hotel.  Their  rooms 
looked  out  upon  a  courtyard  which  was  gay  with  tubbed 
laurel,  and  tented  tables,  and  bright  with  April  sunshine; 
April  beginning  to  verge  into  May,  and  verging  with  all 
du.:  respect  to  morning  dresses,  white  rooms,  open  win- 
dows, and  breakfasts  alfresco. 

The  Milbanke  rooms  filled  one  side  of  the  courtyard 
and  were  en  suite^  Philip  Forsyth  being  allotted  the  furthest 
chamber,  which  Walter  had  made  especially  pleasant  with 
an  addition  of  a  choice  box  of  cigarettes,  and  Dolly  with  a 
jug  of  roses.  They  were  x  very  representative  party, 
everybody  in  the  hotel  thought,  thoroughly  English,  both 
as  to  their  complexions  and  their  easy  extravagance.     The 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  133 

landlady^  a  plump,  cheerful  widow  of  thirty,  did  nothing 
but  admire  them  as  they  came  or  went ;  and  she  made  a 
point  of  going  into  their  rooms  herself  to  see  that  the 
breakfast  was  all  that  they  could  desire,  and  it  was,  from 
the  long  brown  roll  of  Paris  bread  to  the  spring  chicken, 
half  buried  in  cresses  and  potato  chips. 

rhilip  had  donned  a  new  grey  tweed  suit,  with  a  white 
silk  neckerchief  and  brown  walking  shoes,  and  was  all  the 
handsomer  in  the  eyes  of  the  landlady,  and  possibly  in 
Dolly's,  that  he  was  unusually  pale,  his  eyes  more  than 
usually  bright,  and  his  black  hair  more  than  usually  in- 
clined to  straggle  over  his  forehead.  If  he  had  had  hazel 
eyes,  he  might  perhaps  have  been  a  more  stable  and 
reliable  lover ;  but  his  eyes  were  blue,  as  has  boen  pre- 
viously remarked — a  clear  blue,  which  made  his  face 
remarkable  without  the  observer  at  first  quite  knowing 
why.  His  complexion  was  naturally  somewhat  sallow ; 
his  eyebrows  strong  and  dark,  his  hair  raven ;  he  was 
English  in  his  manners  and  speech  ;  but  in  person  more 
like  an  Italian  than  an  Englishman. 

The  two  or  three  days  of  their  stay  in  Paris  was  a 
delightful  time.  Walter  Milbanke  was  the  most  thoughtful 
of  travelling  hosts.  He  managed  everything.  No  one  else 
found  it  necessary  to  give  a  thought  to  anything  except 
enjoyment.  Walter  anticipated  the  wants  of  his  party 
with  the  consideration  of  an  affectionate  friend  and  the 
efficiency  of  the  best  of  courtiers.  And  what  a  genial 
fellow  he  looked  and  was  !  Always  in  a  good  temper ; 
never  argumentative ;  that  is,  not  in  earnest ;  if  h£  opposed 
anything  it  was  in  a  spirit  of  pleasant  badinage.  He  was 
mostly  dressed  in  a  suit  of  navy  blue  serge,  his  coat  nattily 
faced  with  silk  \  and  he  pinned  his  dark  red  scarf  with  a 
diamond  horseshoe.  His  thoroughly  English  complexion 
warmed  up  under  the  work  of  piloting  and  providing  for 
his  party,  and  gave  him  the  appearance  of  robust  health, 


g^  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

which  in  good  sooth  he  possessed,  thanks  chiefly  to  an 
equable  temper  and  a  generous  heart.  Walking  or  driving 
in  the  Bois,  he  looked  very  proud  of  his  wife  and  friends. 
Mrs.  Milbanke  changed  her  dress  twice  or  three  times  a 
day,  and  was  up  to  date  in  the  matter  of  fashion,  a  trifle 
ahead  of  it  indeed ;  for  she  carried  almost  the  first  of  the 
husband  queller  >,  as  the  club-like  parasol  handle  has  been 
ironically  called,  and  her  hat  was  the  tallest  and  prettiest, 
too,  in  all  Paris,  not  even  excepting  Dolly's,  which  soared 
amidst  ribbon  and  flowers,  and  gave  an  added  piquancy  by 
contrast  to  the  retrouss6  suggestion,  the  pretty  tilt,  as  Sara 
Selwyn  would  have  said,  of  h^.  incomparably  piquant  little 
nose.  But,  oh  her  complexion  !  It  was  the  envy  of  every 
Frenchwoman  who  looked  upon  it ;  so  pink  and  white,  so 
peach-like,  and  so  real :  and  her  large  grey  eyes  and  rich 
yellow  hair  t  Mrs.  Milbanke  was  quite  justified  in  admiring 
her,  though  she  was  her  sister. 

Philip  kept  by  Dolly's  side  everywhere,  with  a  quiet 
appearance  of  devotion  that  might  have  deceived  even  a 
cynic ;  and  it  did  entirely  deceive  Mrs.  Milbanke  and 
Dolly ;  indeed,  it  deceived  Philip  himself.  In  the  picture 
galleries,  in  the  shops  of  the  Palais  Royal,  at  the  Comedie 
Frangaise,  on  a  river  trip  at  Versailles,  he  was  a  gallant 
chevalier  and  devoted  lover.  He  was  at  his  best  in  every 
way.  He  talked  well.  Was  a  most  entertaining  companion 
for  all  of  them  ;  knew  the  histories  of  the  great  pictures  ; 
moralized  eloquently  at  Versailles ;  talked  of  the  war, 
interspersing  the  incidents  of  the  entry  into  Paris  with 
appropriate  reminiscences  of  his  young  life  in  Russia. 

And  at  night,  after  th6  light,  elegant  supper,  which 
Walter  insisted  upon  as  the  proper  finale  to  the  play, — 
Philip  would  take  a  hand  at  loo,  or  whist,  or  poker,  for  an 
hour,  and  win  and  lose  with' a  pleasant  grace  that  had  not 
been  suspected  as  one  of  his  special  charms. 

"  You  never  know  a  fellow  until  you  have  traveled  with 


BY  i'  -DER  OF  THE  CZAR.  %%% 

him,*'  Walter  said  to  his  wife  on  the  third  night  of  their 
stay  in  Paris  (it  was  on  the  fourth  that  they  continued 
their  journey  towards  Venice),  '*  and  the  more  one  sees 
of  Forsyth,  the  more  one  must  like  him." 

'*  It  is  quite  wonderful,"  said  Mrs.  Milbanke,  "  quite  j  I 
am  deceived  in  him ;  I  would  have  expected  him  to  be  a 
little  exacting  in  regard  to  the  programme  of  the  day,  and 
a  young  man  of  moods  and  whims  j  but  he  is  perfectly 
amiable." 

"  I  am  glad  you  agree  with  me,  my  dear,"  said  Walter ; 
"  I  never  came  across  a  pleasanter  fellow,  nor  one  better 
informed,  and,  by  Jove,  if  he  does  not  know  a  thing,  he 
has  the  knack  of  seeming  to,  and  of  extracting  the  neces- 
sary knowledge  from  some  one  else,  or  from  a  book,  or  in 
some  way  or  other  just  at  the  right  moment ;  a  thoroughly 
good-natured,  agreeable  fellow;  Dolly  may  indeed  be 
congratulated." 

"  I  think  so,"  said  Jenny.  "  I  hope  so,  and  I  believe 
so ;  though  Sara  Selwyn  with  a  big  fortune  would  have  been 
hardly  less  desirable.  There  is  something  I  like  about 
Sam ;  he  is  so  transparent,  so  good-natured,  and  so  de- 
termined to  be  rich." 

"  Have  you  not  liked  him  a  trifle  more  since  he  made 
those  two  large  sums  of  money  ?  Eh,  now,  my  darling, 
confess  ! " 

"  I  have  respected  him  more,  Walter,  that's  all ;  and 
don't  you  think  there  was  something  very  considerate  and 
thoughtful  in  his  not  proposing  to  Dolly  because  he  did 
not  believe  he  had  money  enough,  and  saying  he  would 
have  proposed  if  it  had  not  for  other  reasons  been  too 
late  the  moment  he  was  sure  of  his  good  fortune." 

"  Oh,  I  like  Sam,  and  we  must  not  lose  him  as  a  friend 
because  we  cannot  have  him  as  a  brother-in  law." 

"  Just  so,  dear,"  said  Jenny  ;  and  before  Walter  had 
finished  his  next  sentence,  Mrs.  Milbanke  was  sleeping  the 


236  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

refreshing  sleep  of  a  contented  mind.  Walter  very  quickly 
followed  suit.  There  is  an  everlasting  and  non-injurious 
narcotic.in  the  knowledge  that  your  banker's  balance  is  all 
right,  and  your  investments  secure. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

DOLLY  SEES  THAT  FACE    IN   HER   DREAMS. 

Although  the  weather  was  fine  and  sunny  in  Paris,  with 
pleasant  promise  of  May  flowers,  it  was  not  until  our 
friends  had  traveled  all  night  from  the  gay  city,  to  awake 
the  next  morning  at  Ambruel,  that  the  world  began  to  look 
green  and  floral.  The  trees  in  the  Bois,  it  is  true,  had  put 
forth  indications  of  green  buds ;  but  the  branches  were  still 
bare  and  brown.  Here  and  there  on  the  banks  of  the 
Seine  there  were  villages  about  which  fruit  trees  were 
beginning  to  blossom,  and  everywhere  you  felt  the  coming 
of  the  Spring,  bright  and  perfumed.  But  after  a  night  of 
travel,  Philip  woke  up  in  the  midst  of  a  landscape  backed 
by  the  mountains  of  the  Savoy,  that  looked  like  fairyland, 
with  tall  green  poplars,  running  brooks  and  clusters  of 
picturesque  cottages  with  overhanging  roofs,  and  in  the 
fields,  men  and  women  fixing  up  poles  for  the  green  vines 
that  had  begun  to  need  them. 

None  of  Philip's  fellow  travelers  were  up.  They  had  a 
sleeping  carriage  all  to  themselves,  with  a  small  dining 
coup6  attached.  Philip  stood  upon  the  platform  of  the 
Pullman  car  in  the  early  morning,  and  the  incidents  of  the 
journey  from  London  to  Dover  went  further  and  further 
away  in  the  distance.  The  continuous  travel,  and  the 
entirely  new  surroundings,  helped  on  "  Old  Time "  and 
his  hour-glass  wonderfully.  Philip  took  out  his  sketch 
book  and  began  to  make  pictorial  memoranda  of  the 
country  through  which  the  train  was  carrying  its  sleeping 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  237 

passengers  with  a  calm,  steady  regularity  of  speed  that 
seemed  to  be  quite  in  keeping  with  the  panorama.  Here 
and  there  a  river  would  swell  out  into  lake-like  pools, 
which  reflected  the  adjacent  country  as  in  a  glass,  following 
which  the  stream  would  break  out  into  turgid  rushes  of 
yellow  turbulent  water.  Then  you  would  come  to  the 
banks  of  shingle  and  dots  of  houses  and  blue  smoke. 

At  one  place  Philip  was  very  busy  with  his  sketch  book, 
the  train  having  slowed  up  at  a  signal,  and  he  brought 
into  use  a  small  case  of  water  colors,  that  he  might  at  least 
have  a  note  of  the  bits  of  delicious  color  that  appealed  to 
the  eye  and  to  the  imagination.  A  company  of  field  laborers 
were  at  breakfast,  men  and  women  ;  they  had  been  busy  with 
the  vines ;  the  men  wore  jackboots,  and  had  handkerchiefs 
jround  their  heads  ;  it  was  in  -a  green  and  flowery  valley 
with  fruit  trees  in  rich  blossom  ;  and  for  a  background 
tliere  was  a  double  range  of  mountains,  the  front  range  a 
black  battalion,  the  furthest  away  range  white  sentinels, 
£;uai"ding  the  valleys  against  the  m^rch  of  Summer,  the 
spring  vanguard  of  which,  nevertheless,  made  its  way  to 
the  plains  with  silent  tread  and  gay  with  floral  banners. 

In  the  valleys  there  were  houses  like  Swiss  chalets ; 
these  repeated  themselves  now  and  then ;  but  not  like  the 
mountains,  which,  as  the  trains  went  pounding  along, 
seemed  to  come  and  go,  and  march  on  and  off,  like  the 
supers  in  a  theatrical  army.  Now  and  then  the  white 
peaks  would  go  right  up  into  the  sky,  as  if  to  challenge 
the  sunshine.  Once  in  a  way  a  streak  of  silver  would 
appear  on  the  mountain  sides ;  it  was  alive,  and  making 
its  way  down  the  great  hills  to  run  off  into  the  meadows 
at  their  feet.  By  and  by  the  country  became  more  and 
more  Italian,  softer  outlines  of  foothills,  vaster  mounts  of 
distant  snow.  Near  one  station  a  company  of  soldiers 
were  engaged  at  rifle  practice  ;  and  henceforth  there  were 
frequent  church  towers  and  rteeples  among  the  poplars. 


asS  By  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

Then  came  prettier  villages  and  whiter  roads,  and  the  vine 
grew  taller ;  the  sun  was  more  powerful ;  the  train  was 
running  into  summer  weather. 

At  Turin  the  little  party  breakfasted,  and  Philip  delighted 
them  with  his  sketches.  From  Turin  the  country  was 
green  with  tall  grass  and  yellow  with  mustard  in  bloom. 
There  were  miles  of  pollard  willows,  and  the  meadows 
were  white  with  daisies.  There  were  acres  of  green  wheat, 
and  towns  with  red  roofs,  and  ia  the  distance  still  marched 
the  everlasting  hills,  white  at  their  summits,  a  blue  haze 
in  their  valleys.  There  were  wayside  stations  with  red- 
capped  officials,  and  fields  yellow  with  dandelion.  Then 
came  signs  of  an  approach  to  some  large  city ;  carts  and 
waggons  on  the  highway ;  a  countryman  with  jgj^yhounds 
in  a  leash,  men  and  women'in  the  fields,  picturesque  in  form 
and  color,  the  women  suggesting  Lancashire  in  their 
handkerchief  head-dresses ;  but  there  were  oxen  yoked  to 
the  plough  to  take  away  the  English  reminiscences.  Pre- 
sently the  train  pulled  up  at  Milan ;  and  it  was  summer, 
for  not  only  had  the  locomotive  run  out  of  Paris  into  the 
city  of  La  Scala  and  the  famous  Cathedral,  but  it  had  run 
out  of  April  into  May ;  it  was  May  day,  and  it  looked 
May  Day,  and  was  perfumed  as  May  Day  should  be. 

Walter  Milbanke  had  timed  their  arrival  and  made  his 
arrangements  accordingly.  It  was  the  dinner  hour  at  the 
Grand  Hotel  Continental,  a  fine  new  house  with  a  pic- 
turesque courtyard,  courteous  officials  and  the  electric 
light.  After  dinner,  Walter  and  Philip  smoked,  while  the 
dear  girls,  as  Walter  called  them,  went  through  the  artist's 
scrapbook,  and  traveled  the  pleasant  day  over  again. 

Looking  out  into  the  street  beneath  their  open  windows, 
attracted  by  a  marching  band  of  vocalists,  they  found 
that  the  wedding  party  of  a  popular  workman  was  being 
escorted  home  by  a  company  of  friends,  who  were  singing 
AS  they  went,  which  led  to  a  cliat  upon  wedding  customs, 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  339 

and  set  Jenny  and  her  sister  talking  of  the  one  wedding 
in  particular  which  was  already  beginning  to  interest 
Jenny  very  much. 

"  Of  course,"  she  said,  when  they  were  parting  for  the 
night,  Jenny  visiting  her  sister  in  her  white  bedroom,  that 
looked  out  upon  the  courtyard,  "  of  course  it  must  take 
place  at  Norwood  ;  it  would  never  do  for  you  to  be  married 
from  your  brother-in-law's  house,  it  would  look  as  if  your 
father  and  mother  were  nobodies,  as  if  they  were  not  living 
in  good  style  ;  and  they  are ;  and  I  think  some  of  our 
friends  will  be  astonished  to  see  in  what  good  style  they 
do  live,  and  what  kind  of  a  house." 

"  It  is  all  one  to  me,  as  Sam  Selwyn  would  say,"  re- 
marked Dolly. 

"  Why  quote  Sam  Selwyn,  dear?  "  asked  Jenny,  some- 
what reproachfully. 

"  Don't  we  always  quote  him  when  we  want  to  use  a 
good  phrase  that  is  more  or  less  slangy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  we  have  that  habit,  but  I  don't  think  it  is  a  good 
one ;  besides,  it  is  just  as  well  that  we  should  try  and 
relinquish  the  habit,  now  that  we  have  finally  made  up  our 
choice  of  Philip  and  let  Sam  slide." 

"  As  Sam  would  put  it,"  remarked  Dolly,  interrupting 
her  sister  with  a  laugh. 

"  Poor  Sam,"  said  Jenny,  "  he  is  a  good  fellow,  and  we 
must  not  lose  him  as  a  friend ;  even  Walter  is  worldly 
enough  to  say  so." 

"  But  is  there  anything  particularly  worldly  in  keeping 
friends  with  Mr.  Selwyn  ?  "  Dolly  asked. 

"  I  don't  know ;  he  will  be  very  rich,  everybody  says  so ; 
is  now,  I  believe,  for  that  matter." 

"  And  somehow,  after  all,  much  as  you  preach  the  other 
way,  Jenny,  you  do  not  seem  to  have  quite  made  up  your 
mind  that  there  is  not  a  chance  for  Sam  yet." 

"  Nonsense,  Dolly  ;  how  can  you  say  so  ?  " 


j^O  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

"  I  don't  know  how  I  can,  but  I  say  so  because  I  think 


so/' 


"  Then,  my  darling,  pray  think  so  no  longer  ;  I  am  more 
than  delighted  with  Philip,  I  am  charmed  and  astonished." 

"  At  what  in  particular  ?  " 

"  At  his  pleasant  manners,  his  amiability,  his  devotion 
to  you." 

"  Are  you  ?  well,  what  did  you  expect  then  ?  What  else 
can  he  be  ?  Do  we  not  make  ourselves  agreeable  ?  Am  I 
not  always  ready  to  listen  to  all  he  says ;  to  be  charmed 
with  his  sketches  ;  and  who  could  be  anything  else  than 
amiable  upon  such  a  journey  as  this,  and  with  such  a  com- 
panion as  Walter,  who  thinks  for  everybody,  gives  nobody 
any  trouble  about  anything,  even  looks  after  the  baggage 
if  necessary,  and  makes  our  tour  a  sort  of  royal  progress  ? 
I  cannot  imagine  the  most  awful  curmudgeon,  as  Sam 
would  say,  being  anything  but  gay  under  the  circum- 
stances." 

"  Oh,  I  do  not  know  that  Philip  is  jgay,"  said  Jenny 
**  but  he  is  happy,  contented,   ready  to  do  anythmg  we 
suggest,  pleasant,  agreeable,  and,  what  is  more  to  the  pur- 
pose, charmed  with  his  pretty  \\\.\\^  fiancie.^^ 

"Then  say  good-night  to  his  pretty  little  fiancie"  said 
Dolly,  smiling.     "  I  am  very  tired,  dearest." 

And  so  they  said  good-night ;  and  in  this  kind  of  closing 
chat,  which  brought  all  the  Milbanke  nights  to  an  end, 
Jenny  told  Walter  that  she  could  not  quite  make  Dolly 
out ;  she  really  did  not  quite  know  whether  she  loved 
Philip  or  not. 

"  Love  him  !  why,  of  course,  she  does,"  Walter  replied  j 
"  he  sat  by  her  all  day  when  he  was  not  sketching ;  and  at 
dinner  he  never  forgot  to  see  that  she  had  the  best  of 
everything ;  and  when  we  looked  out  and  saw  that  wedding 
business  going  on,  he  was  particularly  attentive,  and  he 
whispered  something  to  Dolly  and  she  laughed.     What 


Br  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  941 

more  do  you  want,  Jenny  ?  You  are  so  speculative  about 
things." 

"  I  love  Dolly,"  she  replied,  "  with  all  my  heart  and 
soul,  and  if  she  were  not  happy  in  her  marriage  it  would 
break  my  heart.'* 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  said  Walter,  "  and  it  would  compel 
me  to  drink  more  than  would  be  good  for  me,  I  am  sure  ; 
but  she  will  be  happy  ;  there  are  various  ideas  of  happi- 
ness— to  be  good  is  to  be  happy,  the  poet  says  ;  angels 
are  happier  than  men,  because  they  are  better,  don't  you 
agree  with  that  sentiment?*' 

No  reply. 

Walter  looked  up  from  his  bed  at  the  other  end  of  the 
room.  Jenny  was  in  another  world  j  prose  and  poetry 
were  all  one  to  her,  as  Dolly  had  been  saying  of  something 
else — she  was  asleep. 

"  Good-night,"  said  Walter  in  a  whisper ;  "  I  think  we 
are  having  a  very  pleasant  time." 

Philip  Forsyth  was  trying  to  think  so,  too.  But  there 
was  a  shadow  upon  his  reflections  ;  he  had  got  rid  of  it  so 
long  as  Dolly  and  the  rest  were  with  him — so  long  as  he 
could  talk — so  long  as  there  was  change  of  scene  and  sub- 
ject ;  but  now  that  he  was  alone  he  was  once  more  back 
in  London ;  once  more  with  the  Countess  Stravensky ; 
once  more  under  the  influence  of  her  violet  eyes  ;  once 
more  listening  to  her  deep,  sweet  voice  ;  once  more  at  her 
feet  morally,  poetically,  and  to  his  own  satisfaction.  He 
tried  to  shake  the  pleasant  shadow  off;  tried  to  think  it 
was  not  pleasant ;  tried  to  eclipse  it  with  the  face  of  Dolly ; 
tried  to  exercise  it  with  the  repetition  of  his  vows  of  love 
to  Dolly,  and  with  his  later  vows  made  to  himself  to  be 
true  to  Dolly,  to  Ipve  and  esteem  her,  and  to  forget  the 
woman  of  the  opera-box  except  as  a  model,  an  idea,  an 
artistic  accessory,  a  something  outside  the  affections,  a 
mere  acquaintance ;  but  the  god  or  demon  who  is  sup- 

16 


S43  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

posed  to  have  power  over  the  heart,  who  controls  the  loves 
of  mortal  men  and  women  whether  they  will  or  no,  would 
not  have  Anna  Klosstock  eclipsed  by  Dolly 

Whether  or  no  Dolly  was  governed  by  that  fine  instinct 
which  is  the  peculiar  possession  of  women,  or  whether 
she  had  a  sneaking  kindness  for  Selwyn,  it  is  not  for  the 
chronicler  to  say  ;  anyhow,  she  was  not  altogether  satisfied 
that  Philip  loved  her  as  sincerely  as  he  professed ;  and 
when  she  sl^pt,  she  had  uncomfortable  dreams  ;  and  when 
she  awoke,  she  did  so  with  a  shudder,  as  the  imaginary 
face  of  the  woman  in  Philip  Forsyth's  picture  faded  into 
the  darkness. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

AT  VENICE    BY   MOONLIGHT. 

**  Make  the  acquaintance  of  the  city  of  the  sea  as  a  matter 
of  choice  by  sea  and  in  the  sunshine,"  says  Yriarte.  But 
approach  Venice  how  you  may,  or  when,  her  aspect  is 
impressive  beyond  description. 

If  it  is  magnificent  to  sail  into  the  lagoons  from  the 
Adriatic,  it  is  bewitching  to  glide  into  her  waterways  from 
the  mainland  and  by  moonlight.  Furthermore,  whichever 
way  you  may  approach  your  destination,  you  will  find  it 
equally  impossible  to  analyze  the  sensations  that  overcome 
you ;  in  the  end  you  will  probably  turn  to  Rogers,  whom 
you  have  hitherto  regarded  as  a  writer  of  mere  prose, 
tricked  out  in  blank  verse,  and  recalling  your  unjust  esti- 
mate of  the  banker's  muse,  will  in  imagination  place  a 
chaplet  upon  his  brows  as  tribute  to  the  poetic  picture  of 
your  waking  dream. 

**  There  is  a  glorious  city  in  the  Sea, 
The  Sea  is  in  the  broad,  the  narrow  8treet8| 


£y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  ^43 

Ebbing  and  flowing  ;  and  the  salt  seaweed 

Clings  to  the  marble  of  her  palaces. 

No  track  of  men,  no  footsteps  to  and  fro. 

Lead  to  her  gates.     The  path  lies  o'er  the  Sea 

Invisible ;  and  from  the  land  we  went, 

As  to  a  floating  city — steering  in 

And  gliding  up  her  streets  as  in  a  dream." 

Across  the  long  viaduct  that  joins  Venice  to  the  main- 
land, the  train  glided  over  a  world  of  swamp  and  marshy 
flats  that  reminded  Dolly  of  the  flats  about  the  great  river 
in  Norfolk,  where  it  enters  into  the  wide  sea.  It  suggested 
to  Philip  some  faint  memory  of  the  Russian  steppes,  all 
unlike  though  it  was  ;  and  while  Walter  Milbanke  found  it 
more  Dutch  than  English,  he  took  especial  interest  in 
noting  the  impressions  of  the  approach  to  fairyland  made 
upon  Philip  and  Dolly  ;  for  he  and  Jenny  knew  Italy  well, 
and  had  already  visited  Venice  on  two  occasions.  Walter 
was  theatrical  in  his  tastes,  and  he  found  the  approach  to 
Venice  like  the  preliminaries  to  the  transformation  scene 
of  a  Drury  Lane  pantomime,  beginning  with  dark  myste- 
rious gauzes,  that  suggest  Cimmerian  darkness,  swamps, 
strange  waters,  and  slithery  shores  of  ooze  and  weed. 

The  moon  shone  upon  the  vast  mud-banks.  P'ar  away 
there  was  a  glimpse  of  sea ;  and  further  still,  a  passing 
hint  of  a  distant  sail  close  upon  the  horizon ;  but  no  city, 
no  lofty  campaniles,  no  silvery  cupolas,  no  golden  domes 
and  towers;  only  a  morass  lighted  by  the  moon,  a  flat 
watery  waste,  through  which  the  panting  locomotive  seemed 
to  feel  its  way  j  and  at  last  when  it  glided  into  an  ordinary 
railway  station — with  gaslights  and  porters  and  all  the  other 
belongings  of  locomotive  travel — though  they  had  arrived 
at  the  glorious  city  in  the  sea,  to  both  Dolly  and  Philip  it 
still  seemed  further  away  than  ever. 

"  Mr.  Milbanke,"  said  a  stalwart  Italian,  stepping  up  to 
the  party,  hat  in  hand. 

Ah,  Beppo  1 "  was  Walter's  response. 


i( 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

"  It  is  a  joy  to  see  you,"  said  the  Italian  ;  "  I  will  attend 
to  the  luggage." 

"  Is  your  gondola  here?  " 

"  Close  by,"  said  Beppo,  "  and  I  have  my  comrade  with 
me. 

"  That  is  good,"  said  Walter,  handing  him  the  wraps, 
which  were  of  the  lightest,  and  at  the  same  time  giving 
him  his  tickets  for  the  baggage. 

Beppo  was  a  gondolier,  picturesquely  attired.  He  spoke 
English  with  a  soft  purring  kind  of  accent.  Walter  Mil- 
banke  had  employed  him  during  his  previous  visits  to 
Venice ;  and  on  this  occasion  had  also  hired  Beppo  and  a 
comrade,  with  a  special  gondola,  to  be  at  the  disposal  of 
the  party  during  their  stay.  He  had  also  commissioned 
an  especial  uniform,  with  a  bit  of  color  in  it,  on  account 
of  the  royal  festivities. 

When  first  Walter  had  suggested  the  Italian  trip  and  the 
Venetian  holiday,  he  had  not  counted  upon  arriving  at 
Venice  on  the  occasion  of  a  royal  function  and  a  fine  art 
exhibition ;  but  on  discovering  that  Venice  was  to  be  en 
f&te  he  secured  the  best  suites  of  rooms  at  the  Hotel  Beau 
Rivage  and  a  gondola  and  gondoliers.  The  larger  of  the 
two  hotels  on  the  quay  was  already  full  of  guests,  when  he 
made  his  dispositions  for  their  stay  fn  Venice ;  but  the  same 
proprietary  controlled  the  smaller  house,  and  here  the  Mil- 
banke  rooms  were  ample,  and  almost  facing  the  grand 
statue  of  Victor  Emanuel,  which  the  King  and  Queen  of 
Italy  were  to  inaugurate,  and  in  connection  witlr  which 
ceremony  the  city  was  to  revive  some  of  her  ancient  glories 
in  the  way  of  ffete  and  pageantry. 

Presently  the  Milbankes  and  the  lovers  stepped  into  the 
Venetian  cab.  It  was  lying  by  the  station  steps.  It  had 
no  wheels,  nor  any  horse.  It  was  not  "  the  gondola  of 
the  London  streets  ;"  it  was  the  gondola  of  Venice,  solemn 
looking  enough,  but  not  so  solemn  as  others  with  their 


BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  ^% 

hooded  decks.  Walter  had  been  minute  in  his  instructions, 
"  for,"  said  he,  "  I  always  remember  my  poor  father's  first 
and  last  visit  to  Venice  ;  it  was  winter,  but  daylight ;  the 
gondola  to  him  was  a  floating  hearse  ;  to  enter  it  when  it 
is  in  its  full  panoply  of  service  you  have  to  back  into  it ; 
my  father  lost  his  hat  in  doing  so  ;  the  weather  was  wet 
and  cold,  it  rained,  the  palace  where  he  was  lodged  was 
chilled  with  a  little  charcoal  stove  ;  the  next  day  he  left  the 
city  in  the  sea ;  and  there  you  have  the  prosiest  possible 
idea  of  Venice."  * 

"  Walter,  be  still,"  said  Mrs.  Milbanke  ;  "  the  relation 
of  the  reminiscence  is  like  throwing  a  stone  at  a  lovely 
monument ;  don't  you  see  we  are  afloat  ?  " 

"  I  only  wanted  to  cap  Philip's  disappointment  at  the 
start ;  to  put  the  finishing  touch  to  the  mudbanks  and  the 
stark  prosy  realism  of  the  railway  station." 

Philip  made  no  reply,  for  by  this  time  they  were  in  those 
quiet  streets, 

"As  in  a  dream 
So  smoothly,  silently — by  many  a  dome 
Mosque-like,  and  many  a  stately  portico. 
The  statues  ranged  along  an  azure  sky ; 
By  many  a  pile  in  more  than  Eastern  pride. 
Of  old  the  residence  of  merchant  kings  ; 
The  fronts  of  some,  though  Time  Itod  shattered  than. 
Still  glowing  with  the  richest  hues  of  art, 
As  though  the  wealth  within  them  had  run  o'er.'* 

Philip  said  not  a  word.  Dolly's  hand  had  somehow 
found  its  way  to  his.  She  sat  beside  him.  He  was  wrappv^d 
in  the  spell  of  his  first  sight  of  Venice.  She,  too,  felt  the 
strange  witchery  of  it.  Dolly's  was  not  exactly  a  poetical 
nature ;  but  like  the  dullest  of  us  she  had  her  moments 
when  the  mind  soars  and  feels  a  consciousness  of  its  di' 
vinity. 

The  air  was  balmy.  There  was  no  breeze.  The  moon 
shone  steadily  down  upon  them.    It  was  an  azure  sky  as 


246  HV  ORD£:R  OF  THE  CZAR, 

the  poet  hath  it  though  it  was  night.  The  blue  was  dark 
but  bhie,  and  the  more  blue  for  the  one  or  two  silvery 
stars  that  twinkled  about  the  silent  reflective  moon.  The 
queen  of  night  was  surely  contemplating  the  queen  of  cities. 
"  We  are  the  two  queens  of  the  world,"  it  might  have  been 
saying,  so  high,  so  lofty,  so  dignified,  so  proud,  she  looked 
up  in  the  heavens ;  and  so  majestic,  so  pathetically  majes- 
tic looked  the  dreamy  city  of  the  sea,  where  moon  and 
palaces  glassed  themselves  in  the  calm  waters. 

The  one  or  two  gondolas  that  accompanied  our  friends 
when  they  started,  disappeared  mysteriously  round  bends 
of  the  Grand  Canal,  where  lamps  glimmered  now  and  then 
in  a  half-hearted  kind  of  competition  with  lighted  windows 
that  sent  streaks  of  gleaming  darts  or  broad  beams  of  yel- 
low down  into  the  deep,  making  the  rippling  wavelets  that 
accompanied  the  gondola  rise  and  fall  with  splashes  of 
color  that  had  the  effect  of  molten  gold.  But  this  was 
only  momentary ;  the  gondola  slipped  and  stole  along,  like 
some  shadowy  boat  in  some  imaginary  city,  where  the 
palaces  rose  like  architectural  spectres  out  of  the  bosom 
of  the  dreaming  waters. 

Philip  pressed  Dolly's  band.  She  responded  faintly. 
Somehow  she  felt  inclined  to  cry.  Walter  had  lighted  a 
cigar ;  he  had  one  arm  around  his  wife  ;  he  was  thinking  of 
the  supper  he  had  ordered,  and  wondering  whether  he 
would  ask  Beppo  to  stay  and  take  them  out  later. 

There  was  music  on  the  water  far  away.  It  fell  upon  their 
ears  like  the  moaning  of  an  ^Eolian  harp.  From  one  of 
the  palace  windows  there  came  the  ripple  of  laughter. 
Beneath  the  balcony  there  shot  forth  from  a  little  canal,  a 
gondola  gaily  lit  with  lamps ;  it  sped  away  with  great  swift- 
ness, and  Philip  watched  the  fading  lights  until  they  disap- 
peared as  if  the  sea  had  swallowed  them.  How  solemnly 
beautiful  it  all  was  ! 

Palaces  on  either  hand,  carrying  the  mind  back  to  the 


By  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  247 

most  romantic  days  ofthe  world's  strange  life,  full  of  heroic 
passages  of  human  history,  gay  with  love  ditties,  red  with 
tragic  story,  ramping  with  war  and  blatant  with  defiant 
trumpets.  And  oh  !  how  poor  the  modern  lay  of  the  Ve- 
netian glories,  how  dim  the  w^ords  that  burned,  how  inter- 
mittent the  thoughts  that  breathed  when  Venice  has  been 
the  theme.  Byron,  Otway,  Musset,  George  Sand,  how  flat 
in  comparison  with  the  reality,  ran  Philip's  thoughts  ;  how 
wise  that  American  writer,  Howells,  who  did  not  strive  to 
describe  the  indescribable,  but  wrote  a  book  of  thoughts 
and  facts  and  impressions  ;  for  Venice  is  a  fact ;  it  was  a 
dream  to  Philip,  though  he  fully  realized  that  it  was  a  fact 
— it  and  its  palaces,  its  Doges,  its  great  wars,  its  rebellions, 
its  Bridge  of  Sighs  and  its  historic  Rialto,  its  pageants  and 
its  pictures,  its  San  Marco  of  the  grand  old  ancient  days, 
and  its  Florians  of  the  frivolous  present.  "  But  who  shall 
paint  it  ?  "  he  thought,  "  and  why  has  the  poetic  Ruskin 
tried  to  catalogue  and  set  forth  the  details  of  its  beauties 
as  if  it  were  a  pile  of  architectural  bric-a-brac  ?  " 

There  was  one  thing  Philip  resolved  and  that  was,  not 
to  paint  Venice.  The  queen  of  cities,  she  was  to  be  sug- 
gested, not  painted;  she  was  an  Undine  not  to  be  limned 
as  an  anatomical  study  but  to  be  indicated,  to  be  dreamed ; 
the  very  thought  of  Canaletti's  pictures  of  her  serene 
beauty  made  him  shudder ;  but  he  felt  that  Turner  had 
understood  the  city  in  the  lagoons  with  her  sinking  sun, 
her  shimmery  waters,  her  white  and  golden  towers,  her 
lazy  sailing  boats,  lumbering  in  from  the  sea.  Philip  was 
hardly  responsible  for  what  he  felt  or  thought.  If  he  had 
eaten  the  insane  root  that  takes  the  reason  prisoner,  he 
could  not  have  felt  more  unlike  himself,  nor  could  he  have 
been  happier  in  his  dreamy  helplessness.  In  the  shadow 
of  a  great  steamer  from  the  Eastern  sea  flying  the  flags  of 
England  and  the  P.  and  O.  they  pulled  up  at  the  stairs  of 
the  hotel ;  and  on  their  left,  like  a  great  white  ghost,  was 


048  £y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

the  robed  statue  of  Victor  Emanuel,  waiting  the  coming 
of  the  King  and  Queen  to  havt  .^s  fair  proportions  dis- 
closed to  the  people. 

"  Supper ! "  said  Philip,  when  Walter  invited  him  to  that 
necessary  repast.  "  I  feel  as  if  it  were  a  sacrilege  to  be 
hungry." 

.  "  Not  at  all,"  said  Walter.  "  It  would  be  if  I  had  not 
taken  care  to  order  a  repast ;  but  just  as  nothing  makes 
one  so  hungry  as  a  good  play  or  the  opera,  nothing  is 
more  exhausting  than  the  first  impressions  of  Venice.  I 
remember  when  first  I  came  to  Venice,  that  trip  down  the 
canal  made  me  as  hungry  as  my  first  experience  of  Don 
Giovanni." 

Jenny  and  Dolly  appeared  at  supper  with  bright  eyes 
and  in  bright  costumes.  Dolly  was  not  so  radiant  as 
Jenny.  The  truth  is,  Dolly  was  not  quite  happy.  Alone 
during  those  last  touches  of  the  toilette,  which  Dolly  and 
Jenny  often  performed  together,  Dolly  had  said  to  her 
sister,  "  I  really  do  not  quite  know  whether  Philip  does 
not  see  a  little  too  much  in  nature  and  art  outside  me,  I 
mean,  of  course,  to  be  quite  happy  with  me ;  I  don't  want 
to  have  nature  and  art  always  in  competition  with  fashion 
and  me." 

'*  My  dear,"  said  Jenny,  kissing  her,  "  you  are  in  your- 
self the  highest  embodiment  of  nature  and  art." 

"  Not  at  all ;  if  we  were  both  put  up  to  auction,  I 
shouldn't  have  a  chance  in  competition  with  one  of  those 
old  palaces  or  with  a  moonlight  night  on  the  Grand 
Canal." 

*'  You  are  a  queer  f 'rl,"  Jenny  replied,  "  he  will  get  tired 
of  Venice  in  a  week.  V  enice  is  always  the  same ;  a  beauti- 
ful woman  is  always  different." 

"  Now,  girls,"  said  Walter,  putting  his  head  inside  the 
door,  "  supper,  and  shall  I  keep  Beppo  for  a  floating  siesta 
afterward  ?  " 


BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  .     249 

Yes,"  was  Jenny's  reply,  **  what  is  the  time  ?  " 

"  Ten,"  said  Walter. 

So  Beppo  and  his  comrade  ate  their  polenta  and  drank 
a  measure  of  wine,  and  smoked  their  cigarettes  by  the 
quay,  while  the  merry  English  party  had  their  supper  near 
the  hotel  balcony,  where  you  could  see  Carlo,  the  head 
waiter,  flitting  to  and  fro  in  his  dress  coat,  enjoying  the 
chatter  of  the  guests.  Beppo  and  his  comrade  agreed  that 
the  ladies  were  very  pretty  girls.  Jenny  would  have  been 
much  complimented  if  she  had  heard  Beppo  speaking  of 
her  as  a  girl. 

"  They  are  so  free  and  pleasant,"  Beppo  said,  as  he  lay 
back  in  the  boat  looking  up  at  the  hotel  windows.  *'  Most 
English  ladies  are,  they  are  like  our  Queen  ;  she  is  for  a 
queen  wonderfully  free  and  pleasant-spoken.  Just  the 
queen  for  a  free  people,  eh,  Bettina?  " 

Beppo  called  his  comrade  by  his  nickname  Bettina, 
which  had  been  given  to  him,  because  he  was  supposed  to 
be  womanish  in  his  manners  and  had  never  been  able  to 
grow  a  beard,  but  who  in  his  build  and  in  his  strong  arus 
was  quite  unlike  a  woman :  and  he  was  still  more  un!ike 
in  the  fact  that  he  rarely  talked,  only  as  a  rule  said  "Yes" 
and  '*  No  "  when  he  was  not  simply  content  to  smile  or 
frown  his  yeses  and  noes 

"  Yes,"  said  Bettina. 

*'  She  will  be  here  to-morrow,  Bettina,  and  the  King  will 
unveil  that  noble  statue  of  his  royal  father,  Victor  Emanuel, 
under  whose  banners  we  fought  in  the  war,  Bettina." 

"Yes,"  said  Bettina. 

"  And  conquered,  eh,  Bettina  ?  * 

"  Yes,"  said  Bettina. 

"  And  at  the  base  of  it  there  is  Italy  in  chains  and  Italy 
free ;  and  we  helped  to  break  her  chains,  eh,  Bettina  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Bettina. 

"  And  these  English  people  are  our  best  friends,  Bettina, 


ijO     ^  By  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

and  when  n'»xt  we  have  to  fight  they  will  fight  with  us  on 
shore  and  at  sea." 

'♦  Yes,"  said  Bettina. 

While  Beppo  was  romancing  about  what  Italy  would  be 
like  after  the  next  great  war,  the  English  party  came  out 
with  pretty  cloaks  and  gauzy  wraps  upon  their  arms,  the 
men  with  cigars  in  their  mouths.  Beppo,  hat  in  hand,  was 
ashore  in  one  moment  to  be  handing  his  passengers  into 
the  gondola  the  next,  and  helping  Walter  to  arrange  ihe 
cushions  so  that  Dolly  and  Jenny  should  be  at  their  most 
perfect  ease,  with  Walter  and  Philip  at  their  feet,  the  moon 
dancing  away  down  in  the  sea  beneath  them,  and  sailing 
majestically  above  them  with  two  attendant  stars. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE  RED  GONDOLA. 

Soon  after  eleven  they  were  once  more  afloat,  the  moon 
higher  and  brighter,  the  water  still  and  silent,  the  great 
ocean  steamer  lying  calm  and  solid  at  anchor,  the  opposite 
island,  with  the  Church  of  the  Maggiore,  sleeping  in  the 
moonlight ;  a  cluster  of  coasting  craft  lying  in  the  shadow  of 
St.  Maria  della  Salute  ;  and,  as  they  steered  by  the  steps 
of  St.  Mark's,  the  Campanile,  the  Moorish  towers,  and  the 
flagstaff  holding  communion  with  the  silvery  stars. 

Along  the  water  line  from  the  quay,  past  the  Bridge  of 
Sighs,  and  by  the  Palace  were  a  row  of  leafless  trees, 
mechanical  contrivances  of  lamps,  which  were  to  be  lighted 
before  the  week  was  over.  Even  these  curious  additions, 
artificialities  that  were  singularly  out  of  place,  were  in- 
offensive things  in  the  moonlight,  which  softened  their 
harsh  outlines  and  made  them  almost  picturesque. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  Capri  that  had  loosened  Philip's 
tongue.     For  a  time  he  was  a  very  chatty  companion. 


bV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  i^t 

He  talked  of  the  "  Merchant  of  Venice,"  of  the  old  days 
of  the  Rialto,  of  the  Jews  and  the  ghetto  (which  led  to 
some  mention  of  the  treatment  of  ihe  Jews  in  Russia),  all 
in  a  quiet,  unrhapSodical  kind  of  way  ;  until  they  arrived 
at  the  apocryphal  palace  of  Desdemona.  Here  there  were 
lights  and  evidently  junkettings,  and  under  the  window 
was  a  barge  crowded  with  minstrels,  who  sang  the  "  Fin- 
iculi  Finicula,"  at  which  Jenny  and  Walter  were  delighted, 
and  afterwards  the  Ave  Ma^i^  of  Gounod,  which  came 
like  a  sudden  and  unexpected  benediction  after  the  "  Fin- 
iculi "  chorus. 

'*  The  Moor  has  just  killed  his  spotless  bride,"  said 
Philip,  "and  this  Ave  Maria  is  her  dirge." 

And  so  they  lingered  here  to  listen  to  the  music,  and 
them  moved  slowly  on  towards  the  Rialto. 

If  Philip  could  have  interpreted  the  echoes  of  the 
revelry  going  on  in  that  palace  under  whose  balcony  they 
had  passed  !  It  was  a  reception  given  by  the  Princess 
Radna,  wife  of  the  famous  General  Petronovitch,  that  made 
the  Desdemona  palace  gay  and  festive  on  this  third  night 
of  May,  the  first  of  Philip's  first  visit  to  Venice.  The 
general  and  the  princess  were  lodged  here  by  the  courtesy 
of  an  Italian  noble,  who  had  something  more  than  his 
title  upon  which  to  maintain  the  dignity  of  his  ancient  house. 
Venice,  and  indeed  Italy,  was  distinctly  honored  by  the 
general's  presence  here  with  his  lovely  wife,  during  the 
festival  prepared  for  the  King  and  Queen.  The  general, 
it  was  understood,  had  a  semi-official  mission  which  also 
flattered  the  military  and  naval  vanity  of  the  nation. 

A  couple  of  Italian  ironclads  were  slowly  steaming 
through  the  lagoon  to  the  quay,  while  the  reception  was 
going  on  to  do  honor  to  the  sovereign,  one  of  them  to  beat 
the  disposal  of  the  Russian  guest.  General  Petronovitch, 
who  had  won  a  great  reputation  both  as  Governor  of 
Vilnavitch,  and  as  a  commander  in  the  field,  having  in  this 


»5<  J5V  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

capacity  rendered  good  service  against  some  of  the  hostile 
tribes  in  Central  Asia ;  and  he  had  married  one  of  the 
most  popular  women  of  the  Russian  Court,  a  princess  and 
heiress  to  great  estates.  This  trip  to  Venice  was  con- 
sidered by  the  general  as  part  of  their  honeymoon,  and 
the  Venetian  ladies  as  well  as  the  Venetian  men  were  all 
agreed  as  to  the  bride's  beauty  ;  it  was  not  Venetian  ;  nor 
was  it  exactly  Russian  ;  it  combined  the  piquancy  of 
French  manners  with  the  reposeful  face  of  the  German 
Gretchen. 

It  was  known  that  the  general  had  married  as  much  for 
the  lady's  wealth  as  for  her  beauty  and  her  high  position 
at  court.  He  was  a  universal  admirer  of  the  sex,  and  hard 
things  had  been  said  about  his  infidelities  even  during  his 
honeymoon  ;  but  it  is  a  censorious  world.  There  had 
come  to  Venice  a  certain  distinguished  stranger  whose 
charms  had  already,  it  was  said,  given  the  Princess  Radna 
cause  for  uneasiness ;  and  whose  appearance  at  the  Opera 
the  night  previously  to  the  princess'  reception  had  divided 
the  attention  of  the  audience  with  the  stage,  so  exquisitely 
was  she  dressed,  so  radiant  were  her  jewels,  so  lovely  was 
her  red-gold  hair,  so  pathetically  beautiful  the  expression 
of  her  deep  violet  eyes. 

While  Philip  and  his  friends  were  dreaming  about 
Dcsdemona  under  her  hypothetical  balcony,  this  lovely 
stranger  was  just  leaving  her  gondola  at  the  palace  steps 
to  be  received  by  the  princess,  who  was  already  jealous 
of  her — and  had  protested  in  vain  against  being  compelled 
to  receive  her.  In  the  old  days  of  Venice,  when  every 
lover  more  or  less  carried  his  life  in  his  hands  among  these 
splendid  palaces,  with  their  mysterious  windows  and 
alcoves  looking  out  upon  dim  canals  and  gondolas  that 
lay  hid  in  shaded  nooks,  the  princess  would  have  had  no 
difficulty  in  ridding  herself  of  her  rival — had  the  reward 
been  a  favor  to  some  lover  of  whom  the  general  might 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  253 

have  had  equal  cause  for  dislike,  as  the  princess  imagined 
she  had,  to  hate  the  lovely  stranger.  But  who  knows 
whether  under  the  inspiration  of  a  great  love  or  an  equally 
intense  hate,  the  Venice  of  to-day  may  not  have  tragic 
inspiration  enough  for  a  fatal  intrigue  ? 

"  Could  you  have  believed  anything  on  this  earth  could 
be  so  absohilely  beautiful  ?  "  asked  Jenny,  as  the  gon- 
doliers paused  by  the  bridge  of  the  Rialto  to  permit  their 
passengers  to  contemplate  the  Fondaco  dei  Turchi,  upon 
wliich  the  moonlight  was  falling  in  silvery  splendor, 
whitening  the  marble  columns  of  its  open  logia,  and  cast- 
ing a  broad,  steady  reflection  upon  its  antique  facade. 
What  a  history  there  was  there  to  dwell  upon  !  Walter 
had  looked  it  up,  and  was  enabled,  much  to  his  own  satis- 
faction, to  mention  its  salient  points. 

"  This  is,  of  course,  the  old  palace  restored/'  he  said. 
"  It  repeats  the  original  as  nearly  as  possible.  It  was 
built  in  the  thirteenth  century  by  the  family  of  the  Falmien 
of  Pesaro.  In  1331  it  was  bought  by  the  Republic  and  pre- 
sented to  the  Marquises  of  Este,  Lords  of  Briare,  who 
gave  entertainments  here,  at  which  Ariosto  and  Tasso 
were  guests.  The  Fondaco  dei  Todeschi,  and  it  is  now 
simply  a  museum,  nothing  more  nor  less,  the  Museum  of 
Venice." 

"  But  many  a  noble  palace  along  the  Grand  Canal  has 
come  to  a  worse  destiny?  "  suggested  Philip. 

"  Oh,  yes,  and  the  fact  that  there  are  lodging-houses 
and  other  show  places,  in  which  relics  of  their  glories  and 
miscellaneous  bric-a-brac  are  for  sale  in  the  marble  halls, 
make  Venice  to  my  mind  all  the  more  pathetic,"  Walter 
replied,  with  an  accent  of  sorrow  in  his  voice  that  for  a 
minute  or  two  quite  troubled  his  wife. 

**  What's  the  matter,  Walter  ?  "  she  asked. 

**  Oh,  nothing,  my  dear  ;  I  was  only  trying  to  get  into 
tune  with  Forsyth,  who,  of  course,  is  looking  at  the  poetic 
side  Qf  things,  and  here  the  poetic  is  the  pathetic." 


as4  ^y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

"Ah,"  said  Philip,  "if  one  only  had  imagination  enough 
to  see  the  other  side  of  this  wonderful  picture,"  as  the 
boat  floated  once  more  out  of  the  broad  moonlight  into 
the  shadow ;  "  if  one  only  had  the  heart  to  think  only  of  its 
glories,  its  pageants,  its  color,  its  victories,  its  laughter, 
its  merry-makings." 

"  Yes,"  said  Dolly,  thinking  she  felt  all  this,  but  mis- 
taking the  depression  tiiat  had  fallen  upon  her  fancy  for 
something  more  than  the  woman's  instinct  of  trouble  that 
•  was  beginning  to  cloud  it.  *'  Yes,  indeed,  it  seems  im- 
possible to  think  of  the  happy  side  of  life  in  those  days 
when  Venice  was  mistress  of  the  seas." 

"  But  you  don't  mean  to  say,  Dolly,  that  you  are  lan- 
guishing under  the  shadow  of  her  degeneracy  and  down- 
fall?" remarked  Walter  briskly. 

**  Yes,  I  am  ;  at  least  I  feel  sad,  and  I  don't  know  of  any 
other  cause  for  my  sadness  than  lies  in  the  contemplation 
of  these  beautiful  remain ;  of  greatness." 

"  I  wonder,"  thought  Philip,  **  how  she  would  feel  had 
she  the  cause  of  tribulation  that  afflicts  me  ?  "  for  as  in 
human  faces  that  Jewish  face  we  wot  of  was  the  most 
tenderly  sweet  and  pathetic,  so  the  sad  glamour  of  it  asso- 
ciated itself  in  his  mind  with  the  ruined  palaces,  the  silent 
halls,  the  sleeping  moonlight,  the  whispering  waters,  the 
wailing  music  of  this  midnight  travel.  He  thought  of 
Milan.  The  memory  of  the  journey  to  Dover  had  grown 
old.  He  believed  when  the  locomotive  was  panting  on  its 
way  to  its  Venetian  marshes  that  he  was  putting  miles  and 
miles  between  himself  and  temptation.  He  was  resolved 
that  if  it  were  not  so,  in  fact,  it  should  be  so  in  regard  to 
his  conduct.  Walking  with  Dolly  in  the  sunshine  at 
Milan,  and  also  when  listening  to  the  organ  in  the  great 
Cathedral,  there  he  had  repeated  these  vows  to  himself, 
and  had  shown  special  m  irks  of  attention  to  the  girl  who 
was  to  be  his  wife,  insomuch  that  Jenny  had  remarked  to 


BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  ^55 

Walter,  "  how  Philip  loves  our  dear  Dolly ; "  but  Dolly,  by 
that  subtle  instinct  that  woman  is  blessed  with,  or  cursed 
with,  as  the  case  may  be,  felt  the  hoUowness  of  all  this, 
detected  the  want  of  a  true  ring  in  Philip's  loving  words. 
She  noted  the  embarrassment  that  Philip  felt  now  and 
then,  when  the  face  and  memory  of  the  other  womaa 
obtruded  themselves  in  tne  course  of  his  tender  speeches ; 
and  this  night,  on  the  Grand  Canal,  v/hile  his  thoughts 
would  wander  to  the  Russian-Jewish  woman,  her  heart 
beat  plaintively  to  her  doubts  and  fears,  touched  with 
suspicion  and  melancholy  that  she  endeavored  to  debit  to 
the  past  and  its  faded  glories,  to  the  stories  of  Desdemona 
and  Juliet,  to  the  mournful  episodes  of  Venetian  history, 
and  the  emblematical  structure  of  the  Bridge  of  Sighs  that 
seemed  to  be  the  natural  i)ictorial  epilogue  to  the  gloomiest 
of  Italian  tragedies. 

**  It  is  difficult  to  talk,"  said  Philip  presently,  when 
Jenny  had  remarked  upon  their   general  silence. 

"  It  is  not  necessary,"  said  Jenny,  "  we  can  pretty 
well  interpret  each  other's  thoughts." 

"  If  we  could  !  "  said  Philip  with  something  like  a  sigh, 

"  And  what  then  ?  "  said  Jenny,  laughingly.  "  I  will  give 
you  a  penny  for  yours." 

**  You  don't  bid  high  enough." 

"  I  will  give  you  all  you  dare  ask,"  said  Dolly,  half  jest- 
ingly, half  archly,  half  in  earnest,  and  with  her  heart  at  the 
moment  full  of  a  strange  curiosity. 

"  Pardon  !  "  said  Beppo,.  interposing  with  a  drag  on  his 
oar,  that  brought  the  gondola  to  a  sudden  standstill,  "  this 
is  the  palace  where  the  lady  of  the  red  gondola  is.staying, 
very  rich,  very  beautiful,  a  Russian,  arrived  here  three 
days  since,  everybody  talking  about  her.  Yesterday  she 
went  to  the  ghetto  and  distributed  a  thousand  marks 
among  the  poor  ;  and  this  is  her  gondola  coming  from  the 
reception  given  by  the  Princess  Radna,  wife  of  General 


•SIS  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

Petronovitch,  the  famous  Russian  general  who  has  come 
to  attend  the  fttes  to  the  King  and  Queen." 

As  he  spoke  there  bounded  out  from  beneath  Desde- 
mona's  balcony,  a  gondola,  with  two  rowers,  the  one  at 
the  stern  tall  and  broad  of  limb,  the  other  lithe  a,nd  neat. 
Beneath  the  awning  of  the  boat  reclined  the  figure  of  a 
woman,  and  apart,  in  an  attitude  of  respectful  attention, 
that  of  ,",  man  in  evening  dress,  the  gondoliers  were  in 
crimson  uniform,  and  red  was  the  prevailing  color  of  the 
decorations  of  the  boat,  which  was  lighted  with  one  or  two 
lamps,  one  near  the  stern  falling  upon  a  long  drift  of 
crimson  brocade  that  swept  through  the  water  like  a  flag 
dipped  to  a  conqueror,  or  the  red  signal  of  some  tragic 
thought  or  deed.  The  boat  swung  past  them  without  a 
cry  or  salute  from  the  gondoliers  of  either  vessel ;  and  the 
Milbankes  and  Dolly  strained  their  eyes  to  see  the  face  of 
the  lovely  occupant,  but  'twas  either  veiled  or  in  shadow. 

Philip's  heart  beat  with  a  quick  anxiety  as  he  asked  in 
a  tone  of  voice  which  he  strove  to  make  indifferent,  "  Who 
is  the  lady  ?  " 

"  She  is  called  the  Countess  Stravensky,"  said  Beppo. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

"The  Countess  Stravensky?"  said  Philip,  repeating 
Beppo's  information. 

"  Yes,  sir,  a  Russian  who  looks  like  a  Venetian." 

"  Your  friend  ?  "  remarked  Jenny,  with  a  curious  note 
of  interrogation  in  her  tone  and  manner. 

"  I  presume  so,"  said  Philip,  as  calmly  as  he  could, 
with  his  heart  beating  at  double  quick  time,  and  all  his 
good  virtuous  resolves  evaporating. 

"  An  unexpected  surprise,"  said  Walter. 

^*  You  should  surely  say  an  unexpected  pleasure,"  i:e- 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  157 

marked  Dolly,  who  was  instinctively  and  otherwise  jealout 
of  the  Russian  beauty. 

"  Did  you  know  she  was  coming  to  Venice  ?  "  asked 
Jenny. 

"  No,"  said  Philip.  "  I  understood  she  Mfas  going  to  St. 
Petersburg." 

"  Did  she  know  we  were  coming  to  Venice  ?  "  Dolly 
asked. 

"  I  don't  quite  remember  ;  perhaps  my  mother  may  have 
mentioned  it,"  said  Philip,  suddenly  finding  his  voice.  '•  She 
is  no  doubt  here  for  the  f&tes." 

*'  No  doubt,"  said  Jenny. 

They  slackened  speed  by  the  Bridge  of  Sighs,  where  a 
barge-load  of  musicians  were  entertaining  a  little  cluster 
of  gondolas  in  which  were  many  merry  people,  who  joined 
pianissimo  in  the  chorus  of  "  Finiculi,  Finicula." 

The  moon  shone  full  upon  the  canal,  and  the  scene 
had  a  soothing  and  fascinating  effect.  Philip  found  him- 
self strangely  under  its  influence.  None  of  the  little  parly 
spoke  for  some  time.  Dolly's  hand  found  its  way  to  Philip's 
in  a  timid  inquiring  fashion.  Philip  struggled  hard  to 
hold  it  with  the  sincerity  that  had  a  few  minutes  before 
actuated  all  he  had  said  and  felt  in  regard  to  Dolly  and 
the  futute  of  their  two  lives ;  but  the  red  gondola  had  left 
behind  it  a  trail  of  feverish  sentiment,  and  he  was  once 
more  i«  imagination  traveling  with  a  certain  passenger  by 
train  from  London  to  Dover.  How  mean  and  untrue  he 
felt  all  at  once,  how  unworthy  of  the  confidence  of  the 
pure-spirited,  high-minded,  kind-hearted  London  girl ! 

"  We  will  return  now,  Beppo,"  said  Mrs,  Milbanke. 

"  Yes,  nadame,"  said  Beppo. 

The  two  go  doliers  bent  their  backs  to  their  work,  and 
the  boat  rushed  through  the  moonlit  waters.  In  a  few 
minutes  they  were  at  the  hotel. 

'■'-  It  is  ?  showy  boat,  that  red  gondola,"  remarked  Jenny 
^o  Beppo^  as  he  gave  hec  his  hand  for  the  shore. 


iSS  BY  C.iDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Beppo. 

"  But  we  shall  look  a.s  smart  as  that  to-morrow,  eh,  Bep- 
po ?  "  said  Walter. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Beppo,  grinning ;  "  your  excellency 
has  good  taste^" 

And  he  had;  for  the  next  day  when  Beppo  and  his 
comrade  took  off  their  hats  at  the  steps  and  offered  their 
broad  palms  to  assist  the  ladies  into  their  pretty  vessel, 
both  Dolly  and  Jenny  expressed  their  surprise  and  de- 
light. 

"  Beautiful !  "  said  Jenny. 

"  What  a  change  I  Is  this  the  same  gondola  ?  "  asked 
Dolly. 

Beppo  showed  liis  white  teeth,  and  his  fine  figure  was 
complemented  by  his  fine  dress,  a  rich  blue  cloth  with 
crimson  sash.  The  gondola  was  elegantly  furnished  with 
blue  silk  cushions  and  Oriental  rugs,  and  at  the  shining 
steel  prow  there  fluttered  a  tiny  silk  Union  Jack,  the  red 
and  blue  of  which  the  bluish-green  water  reflected  back 
again  as  if  in  token  of  amity  and  admiration. 

It  was  a  glorious  day.  The  sun  was  far  away  in  a  blue 
sky.  There  was  not  a  cloud.  A  pleasant  breeze  came  in 
a  warm  genial  ripple  from  the  Adriatic.  It  seemed  like 
an  invitation  to  every  sentiment  of  love  and  friendship, 
"  All  the  world  is  happy,"  it  might  have  been  saying,  "  and 
thi;  is  the  loveliest  spot  in  all  the  world."  Philip  tsied  to 
think  so.  On  the  other  side  of  the  lagoon  the  Church  of 
Santa  Maria  del  Giglio  was  decorated  for  illumination  at 
night.  On  the  left,  beating  up  towards  them  were  a  couple 
of  the  great  boats  of  the  River  Po,  with  pointed  stern  and 
enormous  rudder,  the  sun  finding  out  rich  tones  in  the 
ridges  of  their  furled  sails,  the  red-tasselled  caps  of  the 
sternsmen  presenting  grateful  points  of  color  on  the  black 
and  brown  of  the  hull  and  deck. 

As  Beppo  leaned  upon  his  oar,  the  gondola  shot  away 
from  the  shadow  of  a  great  P.  and  O,  steamer  gay  with. 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  259 

bunting  and  sparkling  with  tiny  lamps.  The  statue  of  the 
King  was  still  enveloped  in  its  white  covering  like  a  day- 
light ghost ;  and  along  the  riva  the  glassy  trees  ready  to 
be  lighted  at  night  had  an  odd  out  of  ])lace  appearance. 
But  there  was  a  gay  stream  of  people  walking,  and  quite 
as  much  bustle  on  the  water  with  flashing  gondolas  and 
gay  barges  getting  ready  to  join  in  the  aquatic  procession. 
Ahead,  the  Campanile  shot  right  up  into  the  blue  sky,  the 
banners  of  St.  Mark's  flew  in  front  of  that  dazzling  church. 
On  the  right,  by  the  Custom  House,  a  liftle  fleet  of  coast- 
ers rested  at  anchor,  but  with  their  sails  still  more  or  less 
set,  brown  and  yellow,  and  here  and  there  decorated  with 
strange  devices.  The  Church  of  Santa  Maria  della  Salute 
slept  on  the  water,  in  spite  of  its  frame  work  of  Vauxhall 
lamps,  which  at  night  were  to  mark  its  beautiful  architectu- 
ral lines  against  the  starry  sky.  Flags  were  flying  every- 
where. From  the  windows  of  the  gorgeous  palaces  hung 
rich  brocades  and  Oriental  draperies,  tapestried  stories  of 
ancient  days.  In  the  balconies  were  pretty  women,  and 
below  were  picturesque  men.  Crowds  were  hurrying  from 
all  sorts  of  by-streets,  and  boats  working  their  way  from 
all  kinds  of  mysterious  canals. 

It  was  a  wonderful  scene.  It  dazed  Philip.  He  had 
never  beheld  anything  so  impressive  in  its  picturesque- 
ness.  All  his  memories  of  Russia,  and  his  recollections 
of  English  out-door  displays,  found  nothing  to  compare 
with  this  informal  kind  of  public  demonstration,  unregu- 
lated alike  as  regards  the  people  as  it  was  in  regard  to 
the  decorations  of  the  palaces,  the  varied  colors  of  the 
flying  boats,  and  without  a  single  obtrusive  hint  of  a  mas- 
ter hand  in  the  preparations  for  the  illuminations  at  night. 
Nothing  seemed  to  have  been  designed,  and  yet  every- 
thing was  perfect  in  arrangement  and  color,  and  so  over- 
whelming was  the  beauty  of  the  architectural  avenue 
through  which  they  were  making  their  way,  so  superb  the 


26o  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

sunshine,  that  even  the  theatrical  tokens  of  the  night  to 
come  were  absorbed,  and  became  unobjectionable. 

There  was  on  all  hands  a  general  air  of  delighted  expec- 
tation. Here  and  there  between  the  palaces  and  at  odd 
points,  are  steps  leading  to  distant  water  streets,  and 
these  were  coigns  of  vantage  for  the  sovereign  people, 
who  filled  up  the  open  spaces.  Among  these  democratic 
assemblies  were  some  of  the  most  beautiful  women  in  the 
world.  The  poorer  citizens  of  this  city  in  the  sea  have 
inherited  a  physical  loveliness,  the  tradition  of  which  has 
come  down  to  us  from  classic  history,  and  which  lives  in 
the  never  dying  art  of  Italy,  in  the  pictures  by  famous 
masters,  and  better  still  in  the  women  of  this  nineteenth 
century,  who  still  go  about  the  streets  of  Venice  barehead- 
ed and  with  slippered  feet. 

Presently  the  fleet  of  gondolas  .nd  gorgeous  barges  came 
as  it  seemed  to  a  sudden  anchor.     All  the  varying  and 
flitting  colors  of  the  moment  stood  still  in  one  spot,  as  if 
the  finger  of  P'ate  had  paused  in  turning  life'^  kaleidoscope 
to  permit  of  a  restful  observation  of  some  specially  lovely 
design  that  had  been  develop  2d  after  many  changes.     It 
was  a  happy  jumble  of  artistic  form  and  tone,  of  radiant 
color,    and  subdued  hues  of  brown  and  blue  in  the  sha- 
dows.    So  beautiful  was  the  picture  that  it  looked  as  if  it 
might    fade  away  at  any  moment,  and  leave   Leicester 
Square  or  the  Strand  mockingly  behind.    This  is  how  Phi- 
lip felt,  and  how  he  phrased  it  in  his  mind  in  one  of  those 
moments  when  he  was  not  on  the  look  out  for  the  red 
gondola.     At  length  the  distant  whistle  of  a  railway  train 
was  heard.     Then   everybody  knew  that  the   King   and 
Queen  of  Italy,  the  idols  of  the  people,  and  justly  so,  we'*e 
steaming  across  the  marshes.     Next  there  was  a  filing  of 
big  guns ;  thta  the  music  of  military  bands,  the  air  El  Rey  ; 
anon  there  is  a  movement  ashore,  and  in  sympathy  there- 
with a  movement  on  th^  Cf^nal ;  ^t  lasl  the  pictuiesque 


BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  261 

chaos  begins  to  assume  something  like  a  pleasant  irregu* 
larity  of  order  ;  the  day's  pageant  has  begun. 

Picture  the  scene.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  describe 
it.  You  might  be  told  the  names  of  every  great  barge  ;  the 
period  of  the  costumes  of  the  rowers ;  it  would  be  easy 
to  give  you  a  running  fire  of  historic  titles  and  architectu- 
ral characteristics  of  the  palaces  that  are  ranged  on  either 
side  of  the  procession,  each  one  with  a  wonderful  history  ; 
but  by  and  bye  you  would  begin  to  skip  the  record  and 
search  for  the  red  gondola.  It  is  therefore  best  to  supply 
you  with  material  for  fancy.  You  can  fill  in  the  details 
from  Ruskin,  George  Sand,  Ouida,  Triarte,  Howells,  Ro- 
gers, and  the  established  guide  books.  Get  into  your 
mind  something  of  the  atmosphere  of  the  most  romantic 
period  of  the  world's  history.  Think  of  the  haughty  Doges 
in  their  magnificent  robes.  Try  and  realize  what  Venice 
was.  Then  remember  what  she  is,  a  poetic  and  pathetic 
wreck  of  her  imperial  greatness — the  stage  remaining  with 
its  gorgeous  properties,  its  superb  sets,  its  noble  architec- 
ture, its  glorious  sky,  the  actors  dead  and  gone  ;  but  to- 
day moved  and  radiated  with  the  new  life  of  a  better  age, 
with  nobler  aspirations,  without,  it  is  true,  the  inspiration 
of  barbaric  and  cultured  art  to  make  the  day  shine  and 
glitter  with  gold  and  precious  stones,  yet  exhibiting 
artistic  links  between  then  and  now. 

Think  of  these  things,  and  then  look  around  you  and 
note  this  modern  pageant  with  its  relics  of  the  past,  its 
superb  costames,  and  animated  with  an  ambition  quite  as: 
laudable  as  that  which  built  St.  Mark's  and  decorated  it 
with  beaten  gold.  Imagine  yourself  with  the  Milbankes 
and  Philip  and  Dolly  Norcott  in  the  midst  of  this  proces- 
sion, the  most  impressive  since  the  government  of  the 
Council  of  Ten.  It  is  a  moving  mass  of  energetic  life  and 
brilliant  color.  There  has  been  nothing  so  gorgeous  on 
these  classic  v/aters  since  the  Carnival  pageants  of  the  four- 


i6i  BY  OkDEk  OF  THE  CZAk. 

teenth  century.  Among  the  guests  and  visitors  are  repre- 
sentatives of  the  most  famous  of  the  ancient  Doges.  There 
is  a  family  of  Greeks  who  claim  descent  from  a  famous 
chief  of  Venice.  They  are  here  in  a  gondola  decorated 
after  the  ancient  manner,  and  with  their  gondoliers  attired 
as  in  the  olden  days.  Making  its  way  to  a  prominent 
position  is  a  stately  barge  rowed  by  a  dozen  men,  who 
might  he  servants  to  the  Capulets  in  Romeo  and  Juliet ; 
and  close  by,  another  that  might  belong  to  the  Lady  of 
Belmont.  Here  is  the  small  red  fez,  the  long  hair,  the 
slashed  sleeves  that  one  has  seen  so  often  on  the  stage  and 
in  pictures  of  the  time  ;  in  companionship  with  the  men 
who  are  propelling  the  Greek  barge  are  a  party  of  rowers 
befrocked  as  one  sees  them  in  the  illustrations  to  Byron's 
Corsair. 

In  competition  for  place  is  a  superb  gondola  that  looks 
like  an  exaggerated  toy  of  gold  taken  from  the  top  of  some 
giant  bride-cake,  the  rowers  in  blue  sailor  costume  with 
yellow  sashes.  Rising  gaily  upon  the  busy  waters  with 
swan-like  motion  in  the  wake  of  the  rest,  and  making  for 
the  King's  barge,  is  a  barge  of  white  and  gold  ;  it  is 
followed  by  another  of  blue  and  white — the  white  being 
Venetian  lace  which  trails  with  the  velvet  at  the  stern  of 
the  barge,  joining  many  other  draperies  and  brocades, 
silks,  and  laces,  that  dabble  the  water  with  color,  and  add 
to  a  reckless  generosity  of  wealth  flung  hither  and  thither, 
as  one  can  imagine  in  Italian  displays  of  the  past.  Fore- 
most among  another  group  of  gondolas,  is  one  which  is 
manned  with  rowers  who  recall  the  glories  of  English 
county  life  in  the  days  of  Fielding ;  a  second,  not  unlike, 
with  servants  in  plush  breeches  and  tall  hats ;  a  third  is  a 
gondola  of  a  barbaric  style,  with  a  hood  of  fantastic  shape, 
and  with  men  fantastically  dressed,  the  whole  effect  defiant. 
Imagine  these  and  a  hundred  other  notable  boats,  gondo- 
las, barges    all  making  their  way  to  surround  the  taller 


BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  163 

vessel  of  the  King  with  its  magnificent  golden  eagles  at  the 
prow  and  a  typical  figure  of  regenerated  Italy.  You  take 
your  glass  and  you  find  that  around  the  King's  barge  are 
other  State  vessels,  the  Bucentor,  for  instance,  with  its 
tradition  of  the  bridal  of  the  Adriatic ;  and  all  at  once  the 
whole  throng  of  aquatic  vehicles  begin  to  dance  and  make 
their  way  to  the  Royal  Palace,  amidst  the  discharge  of 
distant  artillery  and  the  clash  and  bray  of  trumpets.  The 
palaces  of  the  Grand  Canal  rise  up  as  if  from  the  bosom 
of  the  waters.  They  are  brave  with  color,  and  alive  with 
excited  people.  The  sun  shines.  The  sky  is  a  pale  ultra- 
marine ;  the  whole  thing  a  fairy  tale ;  and  so  real  that  it 
makes  more  than  one  of  the  Milbanke  party  feel  emo- 
tional. 

Philip  is  lost  for  the  time  being  in  this  feast  of  form  and 
color.  Dolly  sits  perfectly  still  by  his  side.  Jenny  is  up 
and  down  twenty  times  to  catch  glimpses  of  the  Queen. 
Walter  hands  his  glass  to  every  one  by  turns  because  it  is  a 
very  powerful  one,  and  he  continually  thinks  he  has  spotted 
the  best  incidents  of  the  show.  Long  before  the  cheers 
from  the  Rialto  have  been  broken  up  with  other  demon- 
strative sounds  they  find  themselves  really  part  of  the  royal 
procession  indeed,  almost  alongside  the  royal  barge,  and 
partaking  of  a  share  of  the  gracious  recognitions  of  both 
King  and  Queen,  who  smile  their  acknowledgments  of 
every  loyal  cheer,  and  bow  to  many  a  passing  and  accom- 
panying boat.  Jenny  noticed  that  the  Kmg  gazed  appro- 
vingly upon  their  gondola,  because  it  carried  the  flag  which 
Italy  most  honors  among  the  nations. 

At  the  height  of  the  enjoyment  which  Mrs.  Milbanke 
felt  in  being  so  near  the  royal  barge,  the  spirits  of  the 
party  were  somewhat  dashed  (though  none  of  them  ex- 
cept Philip  could  quite  explain  why  they  felt  the  shadow 
of  the  incident  fall  upon  them  more  than  upon  any  other 
boat)  by  the  sudden  appearance  of  the  red  gondola.     It 


864  ^y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

came  shooting  forth  from  one  of  the  little  canals  right  into 
the  midst  of  the  procession,  and  attracted  universal  atten- 
tion. It  stood  out  from  the  rest,  not  only  on  account  of 
its  positive  color,  but  for  the  singular  distinction  of  the 
lady  who  sat  enthroned  at  the  bow,  in  a  simple  silken  cos- 
tume of  white  silk  and  Venetian  lace,  her  gondoliers  in  red 
and  black,  with  velvet  caps ;  and  her  secretary,  Signor  Fer- 
rari, in  the  ordinary  morning  dress  of  the  time. 

The  red  gondola  took  up  a  position  near  the  royal  and 
state  barges,  and  alongside  the  yellow  and  black  gondola 
of  the  Russian  general  and  his  wife,  the  princess.  The 
general  bowed  to  the  countess  with  much  empressement, 
the  princess  contented  herself  with  the  slightest  recogni- 
tion that  might  pass  for  courtesy.  The  countess,  Jenny 
declared,  fairly  ogled  the  general ;  but  Jenny  did  not  like 
the  countess,  and  might  have  exaggerated  the  expression 
of  the  countess'  face.  Philip  noticed  that  the  countess 
was  also  honored  by  the  gracious  smiles  of  the  King  and 
Queen.  He  would  not  admit  to  himself  that  there  was 
something  in  the  glance  of  General  Petronovitch  that  he 
did  not  like  ;  but  he  had  not  seen  how  the  countess  had 
appealed  to  the  vanity  of  her  distinguished  countryman  (if 
a  Jewess  may  be  said  to  have  a  country  or  a  countryman 
outside  the  pale  of  her  co-religionists),  in  the  drop  of  her 
violet  eyes  and  the  play  of  her  ostrich  fan. 

When  the  procession  arrived  at  the  canal  steps  of  the 
palace,  the  red  gondola  had  vanished  as  rapidly  as  it  had 
previously  appeared,  for  no  sooner  had  their  Majesties 
landed,  than  Jenny  and  the  rest,  looking  round  for  the  red 
gondola,  did  not  find  it.  Beppo,  guessing  their  disap- 
pointment, remarked  that  Madame  the  Russian,  who 
looked  like  a  Venetian  picture  out  of  its  frame  for  the  occa- 
sion, had  directed  her  men  to  make  for  the  Fazio  Palace 
the  moment  the  King  and  Queen  had  left  their  barge,  and 
he  must  own  that  they  were  a  couple  of  clever  gondoliers, 


SV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  465 

though  he  had  not  seen  either  of  them  on  the  canal  for 
years  \  curious  men ;  Jews  he  thought,  born  in  Venice,  but 
of  a  roving  disposition  \  fought  in  the  war,  brave  enough, 
but  rolling  stones,  never  know  where  to  have  them ;  and 
so  on,  Beppo  talking  to  himself  as  much  as  to  Walter  and 
the  rest. 

The  reader  of  the  first  chapter  of  this  section  of  our 
story  has  already  met  one  of  the  men  of  whom  Beppo  was 
speaking  —  Paul  Petroski  (with  the  strange  sinister  face 
that  was  comedy  on  one  side,  tragedy  on  the  other),  com- 
missioned for  Venice  by  Anna  Klosstock  in  the  room  of  a 
back  street  in  Soho.  The  other  man  was  the  friend  he 
had  mentioned  at  the  London  meeting  of  the  Brotherhood, 
and  both  are  here  to  obey  the  orders  of  Anna  Klosstock 
and  Andrea  Ferrari,  in  a  great  cause. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

PLOTTERS   IN   COUNCIL. 

The  two  gondoliers  of  whom  Beppo  had  spoken  in  com- 
plimentary terms  as  to  their  skill  and  bravery  passed  the 
Milbanke  party  in  the  hall  of  the  Beau  Rivage  after  liie 
procession  had  broken  up.  They  were  guests  in  the  house, 
as  the  Milbankes  and  Philip  were ;  but  they  occupied 
apartments  with  the  servants  of  the  hotel,  and  took  their 
meals  humbly  with  them,  supplementing,  however,  their 
polenta  and  fish  with  a  bottle  or  two  of  Chianti,  and  enter- 
taining their  fellows  with  stories  of  the  war,  and  incidents 
of  their  apocryphal  travels.  They  all  agreed  that  the 
King  was  worthy  of  his  father,  and  that  Italy  enjoyed  an 
exceptional  liberty,  won  by  the  courage  and  with  the  blood 
of  the  sovereign  people. 

While  Paul  Petroski  and  his  comrade  were  d^.scussing 
politics  and  Chianti,  the   ^ilbankes  were  recalling  the 


266  Sr  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

incidents  of  the  morning  over  afternoon  tea  in  the  best 
room  of  the  little  hotel,  the  balcony  of  which  overlooked 
the  riva  and  was  nearly  opposite  the  linen-covered  statue 
of  Victor  Emanuel,  which  his  son  and  the  Queen  had 
arrived  in  Venice  to  inaugurate. 

The  countess  and  Ferrari  at  about  the  same  time  were 
in  council  at  the  Fazio  Palace,  in  a  back  room  that  over- 
looked a  canal  more  than  usually  gloomy,  more  than 
usually  confined,  but  the  waters  of  which  were  more  than 
usually  swift,  probably  the  result  of  the  narrowness  of  the 
channel,  which  hardly  seemed  to  give  room  enough  for 
two  boats  to  pass.  Here  also  was  a  balcony,  very  diffe- 
rent from  that  of  the  Hotel  Beau  Rivage,  with  its  open 
view  of  the  Lido  in  front  and  on  the  left  the  blue  waters  of 
the  Adriatic.  This  balcony  was  spacious.  It  looked  upon 
the  dead  wall  of  a  dead  palace,  dead  as  the  Doges  who  had 
visited  its  once  illustrious  owner  ;  dead  as  the  valiant  in- 
scription beneath  its  Oriental  portico ;  dead  as  the  decay- 
ing poles  at  its  bricked-up  doorway. 

You  could  hardly  see  the  sky  between  the  two  palaces, 
unless  you  looked  down  into  the  water  that  reflected  the 
grey  lichen  decked  walls.  As  you  turned  your  eyes  to  and 
fro  and  inspected  the  locality,  you  could  realize  the  truth  or 
probability  of  all  the  Venetian  love  stories  you  had  ever 
read  ;  you  felt  that  this  spot  above  all  you  had  seen  was 
made  for  romance,  for  intrigue,  for  silken  ladders,  for  mys- 
terious gondolas  and  serious  masqueraders. 

The  Fazio  Palace  had  recently  been  restored  in  parts. 
The  front,  which  gave  upon  one  of  the  most  important 
branches  of  the  Grand  Canal,  was  radiant  with  gold  and 
bright  with  restored  frescoes  ;  but  the  back,  with  its  bal- 
conies upon  the  narrow  way  to  which  reference  has  been 
made,  remained  just  as  it  was  in  the  days  before  Falerio  ; 
and  the  rooms  of  this  out-of-the-way  wing  were  also  more 
or  less  in  a  state  of  dilapidated  picturesqueness.     The 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  167 

Countess  Stravensky  liked  the  privacy  of  the  balconied 
room,  away  from  the  general  staircases,  with  its  picture- 
panels,  and  its  tapestried  vestibule.  She  had  examined  the 
place  with  Ferrari,  and  had  found  a  doorway  provided  with 
great  oaken  shutters  that  completely  isolated  this  portion 
of  the  palace  ;  and  here  the  countess  had  set  up  a  boudoir 
where  she  could  be  private  at  any  time ;  where  she  could 
read  and  write  without  the  possibility  of  disturbance, 
and  where,  if  she  desired  it,  she  could  receive  a  guest  in 
secret. 

"  You  have  done  your  work  most  excellently  and  com- 
pletely," said  the  countess,  who  had  changed  her  proces- 
sional dress  for  an  easy  tea  gown.  "  I  thank  you  for  your 
devotion,  and  applaud  your  taste." 

Ferrari  bowed  his  head  and  drew  the  curtain  of  the 
vestibule. 

"  It  is  all  we  could  desire,  you  think  so  ?" 

He  showed  her  a  little  room  inside  the  vestibule  which 
might  have  been  a  dungeon,  so  thick  and  strong  were  its 
walls,  so  dim  its  light,  and  so  generally  gruesome  its  atmo- 
sphere. 

"What  tragedies  have  been  done  in  this  strange  weird 
city  of  the  sea,"  said  Anna,  as  she  looked  into  the  room. 

"  Mere  stage-plays  compared  with  those  of  the  Kremlin, 
the  House  of  Preventive  Detention,  Schluusselberg,  the 
Ilavelin  of  Troubetzkoi,  and  the  bagnios  of  Siberia." 

"  Yes,"  she  replied.  "  Yes,  and  the  mines  ;  but  I  was 
thinking  just  at  that  moment,  Andrea,  of  romance.  Last 
night  I  was  reading  Byron  ;  and  this  morning  these  Stories 
of  the  Bridge  of  Sighs." 

She  took  up  a  new  book  as  she  spoke,  but  Ferrari  only 
said  : — 

"  I  am  glad  you  entirely  approve  of  all  this,"  and  as  he 
said  so  his  ferret  eyes  glanced  from  the  window  to  the 
vestibule,  from  the  vestibule  to  the  countess. 


268  BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

"  It  is  well,"  she  replied.     "  I  will  rest  now." 

Ferrari  left  the  room  for  a  minute,  returning  with  a 
number  of  letters. 

"  These  are  the  last  replies  to  your  invitations  for  Mon- 
day." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said. 

He  placed  them  upon  a  table  inlaid  with  various  mar- 
bles. 

"You  are  not  well?"  he  said  inquiringly.  "  Did  you 
see  the  gondola  with  the  two  English  ladies,  and  the  Bri- 
tish flag?" 

"  Yes." 

"  I  thought  otherwise." 

*"  I  saw  it,"  she  replied,  "  and  he  saw  me.     It  makes 
me  sad,  dear  friend." 

The  accent  with  which  the  countess  spoke  gave  an 
added  tone  of  pensiveness  to  the  expression  of  her  words. 
Ferrari,  accustomed  to  her  manner  and  her  moods,  did  not 
notice  this  perhaps,  but  he  felt  that  there  was  a  softness  in 
her  tone  of  voice  which  was  unusual.  He  had  long  en- 
joyed the  privilege  of  an  intimacy  that  gave  him  perfect 
freedom  to  say  whatever  he  thought  well  for  Anna  and  the 
cause  in  which  they  were  both  engaged.  Never  once  had 
he  made  love  to  her  ;  never  once  had  he  dreamed  of  doing 
so.  From  the  first  moment  of  their  renewed  acquaintance 
after  the  tragedy  of  Czarovna  she  had  made  him  under- 
stand that  the  relationship  between  them  might  be  that  of 
a  man's  friendship,  the  bond  of  two  souls  pledged  to  ven- 
geance upon  their  mutual  enemies,  and  more  particularly 
in  her  case  upon  one  who  seemed  until  the  last  few  months 
destined  to  elude  their  best  laid  plots  and  snares.  By  a 
tacit  understanding  they  were  to  each  other  simply  devoted 
friends  and  fellow  conspirators  ;  they  had  in  their  memories 
the  conflagration  at  Czarovna ;  but  above  all  the  kncut 
and  the  steppes  and  the  prisons  of  Siberia. 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  369 

Ferrari's  devotion  to  the  Brotherhood  of  which  we  have 
already  heard  had  nobler  springs  than  Anna's,  who  had 
but  one  dominant  passion  of  revenge.  They  had  both 
found  their  companionship  a  comfort  in  its  way,  because 
they  could  both  make  allowances  for  each  other.  Ferrari's 
memory  for  Anna's  once  happy  home  and  its  desolation, 
was  as  fresh  as  if  he  had  seen  her  lover  beaten  to  death 
and  the  lashes  of  the  knout  falling  on  her  own  fair  flesh 
only  yesterday.  They  were  companions  in  adversity  and 
plots  of  vengeance  ;  in  a  desire,  also,  to  help  their  people  ; 
but  there  the  union  of  mind  and  hope  and  thought  ended, 
it  had  nothing  to  do  with  love,  nor  had  Anna  shown  the 
least  sign  of  the  revival  of  woman's  tender  feelings  since 
she  left  the  Russian  hospital  until  she  met  Philip  Forsyth ; 
her  marriage  to  Count  Stravensky  being  a  political  mar- 
riage, solemnized,  as  we  know,  on  the  death-bed  of  the 
rebel  count. 

"  He  saw  you  ?  "  said  Ferrari. 

"Yes,  I  think  so,"  she  replied. 

"  Did  he  know  you  were  coming  to  Venice  ?  " 

«  No." 

"  You  knew  he  was  coming  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  You  have  no  secret  from  me  in  this,  eh  ?  " 

"  None,"  said  Anna. 

"  You  traveled  with  him  from  London  to  Dover  ?  *' 

*'  Have  I  not  said  so  ?  " 

"  He  loves  you,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  does,  in  a  mad  boyish  fashion  that  belongs 
rather  to  your  Italian  country  than  to  England." 

"And  you?" 

"  Ah,  Ferrari,  I  thought  I  was  a  heroine.  I  thought  the 
woman  in  me  was  dead  and  gone  ;  it  is  not.  Do  you  not 
think  this  English  youth  is  like  what  our  dear  young  rabbi 

wa§?" 


ZJO.  BY  ORD£R  OF  THE  CZAR. 

*•  I  am  glad  you  speak  of  him  as  a  youth,"  Ferrari 
replied. 

"Why?" 

"  Because  you  will  regard  his  passion  as  that  of  a  boy, 
and  not  let  it  move  your  woman's  nature  that  you  speak 
of." 

"  But,  Andrea,  it  has,  it  has  !  I  am  miserable  as  a  con- 
soquence,  miserable.  I  have  the  feeling  of  a  dream  that 
blots  out  all  but  my  father's  house  in  the  sweet  time  you 
know  of." 

"  Before  I  came  and  pulled  it  all  down  about  you." 

"  No,  no,  Andrea  Ferrari." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  say,  it  was  I.  But  for  me  you  would  have 
been  happy ;  it  was  I  who  gave  the  excuse  for  butchery, 
and  worse — and  worse,"  he  repeated  significantly. 

**  No,  no ;  some  other  excuse  would  have  been 
found." 

"  But  why  this  confession,  Anna  Klosstock,  Countess 
Stravensky — why  ?  " 

"  Not  to  alter  our  plans,  Andrea,  but  to  relieve  my 
mind." 

"  If  I  had  not  been  old  enough  to  be  your  father,"  said 
Ferrari,  sitting  by  her  side  and  taking  her  hand,  "  old 
enough,  but  not  good  enough ;  if  I  had  been  young  and  had 
been  made  for  what  women  call  love,  it  would  have  been 
well,  Anna,  if  we  could  have  joined  what  is  called  hands 
and  hearts.' 

"  And  would  you  after  what  you  say  is  worse  than  but- 
chery ?  And  would  you  with  the  brand  of  the  knout  upon 
her?" 

"  Ah,  my  child,"  Ferrari  replied  as  if  they  were  discussing 
a  more  or  less  ordinary  matter,  "  that  brand  is  an  honor. 
But  you  love  this  English  painter,  eh  ?  Is  it  so  after  all 
your  vows,  after  your  pledges,  and  with  the  work  you  have 
^Q  do  th^t  vs,  so  far  awa^  from  such  ideas^  and  the  hpttes^ 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  971 

©f  it  so  near  ?  Well,  well,  and  yet  we  go  on  trusting  wo- 
men in  the  Brotherhood.  Then  the  English  youth  must  be 
one  of  us,  eh  ?    Is  that  what  you  mean  ?  " 

•'  No,  no  I     Not  for  worlds  1 " 
;i»"  What  then?" 

•*  I  know  not ;  but  have  no  fear  about  the  cause  and  the 
work.  I  feel  better  for  what  I  have  said.  And  now  to 
sleep  and  dream." 

•'  And  get  rest,  the  needful  armor  of  battle  and  victory." 

She  took  from  a  small  cabinet  a  phial,  poured  a  few  drops 
into  a  wineglass  of  water. 

*'  Au  revoir,"  she  said.  "  Order  the  gondola  one  hour 
before  midnight.     We  shall  take  him  on  board  at  eleven." 

'  Him ! "  said  Andrea,  his  thoughts  on  Philip. 

"  Him  !  "  said  the  countess. 

"  But  whom  ?  "  asked  Ferrari. 

"  General  Petronovitch,"  she  replied,  laying  her  hand 
upon  Ferrari's  arm. 

"  Yes,"  he  said. 

"  Paul  will  find  a  person  in  the  dress  of  a  civilian  stand- 
ing near  the  ferry  by  the  Rialto  ;  when  the  gondola  appears 
he  will  raise  his  right  hand ;  Paul  will  take  him  on  board 
and  row  towards  the  Lido  until  I  tell  him  to  return.  The 
general  will  alight  here." 

"Here!" 

"  At  the  front  entrance  of  the  palace,  and  will  then  take 
his  leave ;  he  will  desire  to  enter,  but  I  shall  give  him  the 
rendezvous  for  Monday  night  an  hour  before  the  recep- 
tion." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  that  is  understood.  Countess,  forgive  me 
if  I  doubted  you  for  one  moment,  your  courage,  your  word, 
the  fulfilment  of  your  oath  to  me,  and  to  the  dead." 

"  Call  me  Anna,  friend,"  she  replied.  "  I  forgive  you, 
Andrea  Ferrari.  Send  Marie  to  me  at  tep,  I  shall  sleep 
until  that  hour." 


0f%  By  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

"  One  word,"  said  Ferrari.  "  Should  he  recognuse 
you?" 

"  It  is  impossible,  I  tell  you.  I  have  told  you  so  a 
hundred  times.  Who  could  recognize  the  Queen  of  the 
Ghetto,  the  simple  modest  know-nothing  of  Czarovnai  in 
the  Countess  Stravensky  ?  " 

"I  recognized  you." 

"  But  you  knew  the  count." 

**  Petronovitch  knew  the  count" 

♦'  But  not  as  you  knew  him — not  as  one  of  us." 

"  You  feel  safe  in  this  ?  " 

"  Perfectly,"  she  replied.  "  Petronovitch  thinks  me  dead. 
Who  that  had  seen  me  borne  to  the  hospital  could  think 
otherwise  ?  " 

"  Who  indeed,  poor  soul ! "  said  Ferrari. 

"  Then  be  of  good  cheer,"  she  replied.  "  All  will  be 
well." 

**  I  kiss  your  hand,"  said  Ferrari,  his  face  brightening. 
*'  You  are  worthy  to  lead  the  Brotherhood." 

"  Even  the  sun  has  its  dark  clouds,  Andrea.  I  shall  not 
play  you  false.  Look  to  yourself,  and  put  your  discreet 
soul  into  the  minds  of  Paul  and  his  comrade.  And  now 
I  must  sleep." 

As  ^he  said  this,  she  drew  aside  a  portiere  opposite  the 
vestibule  and  disappeared. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

SHADOWS   FALL  ON  THE    MERRY   SISTERS. 

If  this  were  a  history  of  the  Venetian  f&les,  the  glories 
of  the  Art  Exhibition,  the  inauguration  of  the  Victor 
Emanuel  Statue,  the  launching  of  Italian  gunboats  and  the 
magnificer^t  incidents  of  peace  and  war,  of  which  theM 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  Vl% 

events  were  incidents  in  what  might  be  called  the  grand 
denouement  of  Italian  unity,  the  author  would  have  to 
dwell  upon  details  that  belong  rather  to  the  journalist  and 
the  historian  than  to  himself.  The  task  would  be  pleasant 
enough,  the  general  subject  of  sufficient  importance  for 
accuracy  of  date  and  circumstances  ;  but  the  occurrences 
in  question  belong  to  this  present  narrative  only  by  way 
of  accessory  fact  and  color. 

It  will  be  sufficient  in  respect  of  the  adventures  we  are 
chronicling  to  say,  at  this  point,  that  after  many  days  of 
busy  preparation  the  night  of  illumination  came,  a  night 
fraught  with  tragic  significance  to  certain  of  the  actors  in 
the  drama  of  the  life  of  Anna  Klosstock.  The  King  and 
Queen  had  performed  their  important  and  interesting 
functions,  and  the  municipality  and  citizens  of  Venice  had 
prepared  the  last  of  the  impressive  demonstrations  of  the 
week — the  after-dark  decoration  of  the  city. 

Looking  from  the  balcony  of  the  hotel  on  the  Riva  degli 
Schiavoni  a  wonderful  sight  was  spread  out  before  our 
friends,  the  Milbankes  and  the  lovers.  The  city  in  the  sea 
with  ships  and  boats  all  one  lurid  blaze  of  ligb .  above,  the 
moon  looking  on  with  its  calm  attendant  stars.  The 
island  and  church  of  San  Giorgio  Maggiore  loomed  up 
from  the  lagoon,  the  shore  lying  in  dark  shadow,  the  quay 
alive  with  people  walking  between  a  long  row  of  blazing 
Marguerite  daisies  in  honor  of  the  Queen  Margherita,  the 
church  made  strikingly  distinct  in  its  outline  of  pale  green 
lamps  which  were  in  delicate  contrast  to  the  Bengal  lights 
of  some  adjacent  shipping.  In  the  centre  of  the  island 
the  Lion  of  St,  Mark's  stood  out  against  the  sky,  flanked 
with  the  letters  U.  and  M,  in  colored  fires. 

On  the  left,  looking  down  the  lagoon,  the  Peninsular 
and  Oriental  steamer  was  gayer  than  the 'two  Italian  wgr 
ships  lying  off  the  Arsenal,  the  English  captain  having 
converted  his  slumbering  vessel  into  something  that  might 

18 


$94  ^y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

have  been  fairy-like,  but  for  the  tremendous  solidity  of  the 
steamer's  ponderous  hull,  marked  out  with  rippling  fires 
and  bearing  aloft,  in  emblazonry  of  lamp  and  transparency, 
the  flags  and  banners  of  Italy  and  Great  Britain. 

As  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  on  the  right,  away  past 
the  Bridge  of  Sighs,  the  steps  of  Saint  Mark's,  the  Campa- 
nile, the  Custom  House  and  the  famous  adjacent  church 
of  Maria  della  Salute,  the  air  was  luminous  with  artificial 
light,  and  the  water  was  alive  with  every  class  of  boat  and 
gondola,  each  vessel  bearing  variegated  lamps  of  every 
shape  and  color.  Songs  and  choruses  came  up  to  the 
Riva  balcony  in  a  curious  complication  of  discordant 
sounds,  with  now  and  then  flashes  of  melody;  the 
National  Anthem,  and  the  cheering,  defiant  strains  of  that 
Neapolitan  melody,  the  "  Funiculi,  Funicula,"  which  had 
made  so  strange  an  appeal  to  the  sentimental  mind  of 
Philip  Forsyth. 

It  was  not  yet  the  hour  at  which  they  were  invited  to 
the  Countess  Stravensky's  reception  at  the  Palazzo  Fazio. 
The  idea  of  this  brilliant  function  was  to  swell  the  moon- 
light parade  of  boats  with  a  distinguished  company  be- 
tween ten  and  eleven,  at  which  time  it  was  understood 
that  the  King  and  Queen  would  enjoy  the  scene  and 
take  part  in  it  incognito. 

Walter,  Philip  and  Dolly  were  so  much  overcome 
with  the  scene  before  them,  that,  judging  by  their  silence, 
they  were  at  the  moment  indifferent  to  the  social  de- 
lights which  Jenny  anticipated  at  the  Fazio  Palace. 

Philip,  however,  was  far  more  engrossed  in  the  possi- 
bilities of  the  future  than  in  the  contemplation  of  the 
present.  His  state  of  mind  might  be  described  as  drift- 
ing. It  was  like  a  boat  uix)n  some  calm,  fascinating 
stream,  making  its  way  with  the  current,  without  compass 
or  rudder,  and  content  to  glide  on,  fanned  by  perfumed 
breezes  and  lulled  with  sweet  narcotics. 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  f|| 

Dolly  found  herself  a  little  out  of  tune  with  the  sittiatioo. 
She  realized  that  Philip  was  intensely  absorbed,  and  that  be 
answered  her  observations  mostly  in  monosyllables. 

Walter  chatted  and  (pointed  out  artistic  effects,  artificial 
and  natural,  and  Jenny  remarked  more  than  once  how 
kind  it  was  of  the  Countess  Stravensky  to  give  them  the 
opportunity  of  seeing  a  phase  of  Venetian  life,  which 
otherwise  might  have  been  outside  their  experience. 

Continental  aristocracy,  Jenny  went  on  to  reflect,  were 
less  bound  to  the  wheel  of  frrmality  than  the  English. 
The  countess  had  evidently  the  moment  she  heard  of 
their  presence  in  Venice  despatched  her  messenger  and 
cards  to  them  without  delay.  It  was  a  gracious  piece  of 
courtesy  on  her  part,  none  the  less  pleasant  that  they  had 
to  thank  Philip  for  it. 

It  may  be  said  at  once,  for  the  reader's  information,  that 
the  countess  had  a  generous  object  in  view  when  she  in- 
vited Philip,  the  Milbankes  and  Miss  Norcott  to  this 
reception. 

She  well  knew  that  if  ever  there  had  been  the  slightest 
chance  of  a  response  on  her  part  to  the  declaration  of 
Philip,  the  tragic  incident  of  the  night  had  placed  between 
them  a  still  wider  gulf.  She  was  anxious  to  emphasize  the 
finality  of  their  separation  by  her  marked  reception  of 
Miss  Norcott  as  his  fiande.,  and  by  other  indications  of 
the  purely  Platonic  sentiments  she  entertained  towards 
him. 

Philip,  however,  as  the  time  approached  for  Beppo  and 
his  comrades  to  carry  their  English  passengers  to  the 
Fazio  Palace,  found  his  thoughts  drifting  as  far  away  from 
Dolly  as  they  had  drifted  down  the  torrent  of  passion  dur- 
ing that  never  to  be  forgotten  journey  from  London  to 
Dover. 

"  It  will  be  very  interesting,"  said  Jenny,  addressing 
|*hili|),  "  to  see  what  society  is  really  like  in  Veniw, 


ij6  By  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

When  I  was  here  before  with  Walter,  we  saw  a  little  of  it, 
but  it  was  mostly  professional ;  tainted,  I  might  say,  if 
Walter  will  forgive  me,  with  business  connected  with  a 
curious  international  law-suit." 

"  In  which  I  succeeded  for  ray  clients,"  chimed  in 
Walter 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  said  Jenny,  "  that  goes  without 
saying,  and  your  Venetian  friend  had  indeed  quite  a  touch 
of  the  grand  manner  of  the  ancient  advocates  who,  I  sup- 
pose, pleaded  before  the  Doges." 

"  Why,  my  dear/'  interposed  Walter,  "  and  I  mention  it 
on  the  authority  of  Mr.  Howells,  in  whose  Venetian  life 
you  so  delight,  the  best  people  in  the  best  society  in 
Venice  are  advocates ;  an  order  of  consequence,  as  you 
suggest,  even  in  the  times  of  the  Republic  ;  although  shut 
out  from  participation  in  public  affairs  by  a  native  Go- 
vernment, as  it  was,  when  Howells  lived  in  Venice,  by  a 
foreign  one." 

"  Austria  was  in  authority  then,  I  presume,"  remarked 
Philip,  who  endeavored  to  t^ke  at  least  a  perfunctory 
interest  in  the  conversation. 

"  Yes,"  said  Jenny. 

"  Daniel  Manin,  the  President  of  '48,*'  continued 
Walter,  "  was  of  this  professional  class  which,  to  quote 
your  Republican  friend  again,  *  by  virtue  of  its  learning, 
enlightenment,  and  attainments,  occupies  a  place  in  the 
esteem  and  regard  of  the  Venetian  people  far  above  that 
held  by  the  eflFete  aristocracy.' " 

"  Then  I  begin  to  fear  we  may  have  seen  on  our  pre- 
vious visit  what  may  be  called  the  best  society  in  Venice," 
said  Jenny. 

"Not  at  all,"  Walter  replied  ;  "the  present  is  a  very 
exceptional  occasion.  You  will  meet  to-night  not  only 
the  best  people  in  Venice,  but  the  best  in  Italy ;  eminences, 
gre^t  generals,  distinguished    met)    and    woiQen  of  ftU 


SY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  tyy 

classes,  not  to   mention  notable    representatives  of  the 
foreign  embassies.     General  Fetronovitch  and  his  beauti- 
ful Russian  wife,  a  princess  in  her  own  right,  I  believe 
are  to  be  present.      I  think  Philip  can  tell  you  something 
of  these  Italian  guests." 

"  I  have  no  acquaintance  with  them,"  said  Philip.  "  I 
once  heard  Lady  Marchmount  speak  of  them.  Petrono- 
vitch  was  the  Russian  governor  who,  I  believe,  put  down 
the  rising  against  the  Jews  some  years  ago  in  Southern 
Russia.  He  also  rendered  some  great  services  to  the 
Czar  in  Central  Asia.  Should  there  be  another  great 
European  war,  it  is  understood  that  he  will  hold  a  promi- 
nent command.  He  has  been  decorated  by  the  Czar,  and 
is  probably  entitled  to  the  distinction  of  *  Prince,'  but  he 
is  simply  known  as  General  Petronovitch  j  very  wealthy, 
very  powerful,  and  fortunate  in  his  marriage." 

Philip  went  on  talking  in  this  strain,  without  taking  any 
particular  interest  in  what  he  was  saying.  Dolly  sat  look- 
ing out  upon  the  lagoon. 

"  The  Jews,  by  the  way,"  said  Walter,  "  hold  quite  an 
exceptional  position  in  Venice.  Next  to  the  advocates  in 
position  come  the  physicians.  Both  are,  as  a  rule,  men  of 
letters^and  write  for  the  newspapers,  and  many  popular 
doctors  are  Hebrews.  Howells  mentions  that  even  in  the 
old  jealous  times,  the  Jews  exercised  the  art  of  medicine, 
and  took  important  rank.  Oddly  enough,  the  Venetian 
doctors  pass  most  of  their  time  sitting  upon  the  benches 
in  the  pretty  and  well-furnished  apothecary  shops,  where 
they  discuss  politics  and  art.  Each  physician  has  his 
own  favorite  apothecary,  and  has  his  name  inscribed  there 
on  a  brass  plate  against  the  wall,  and,  as  a  rule,  if  he  is 
wanted,  it  is,  as  a  rule,  at  the  apothecary's  that  mes- 
sengers seek  him." 

"  You  have  read  your  '  Venetian  Life  *  as  carefully  as  I 
have,"  remarked  Jenny,  laughing. 


ti%  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Walter,  "  I  always  make  £1  point  of 
knowing  as  much  as  possible  what  has  been  said  and 
written  about  the  places  I  visit." 

*♦  When  shall  we  see  your  proposed  studio,  Philip  ?  " 
asked  Jennv,  suddenly  changing  the  conversation  into  a 
fresh  channel. 

"  Oh,  in  a  day  or  two,  Mrs.  Milbanke,"  said  Philip.  "  I 
have  been  too  much  absorbed  in  the  beauties  of  Venice 
to  think  of  it  at  present,  but  next  week  we  will  look  the 
place  up.  My  friend  is  away,  but  the  keys  are  at  my 
disposal." 

**  You  will  want  models,  of  course  ?  "  said  Jenny. 

**  Yes,"  said  Philip,  "  and  I  hear  they  are  plentiful. 
But  Dolly  is  to  be  my  first  sitter.  I  think  she  will  be 
quite  as  Venetian  as  the  ladies  in  Mr.   Fildes'  pictures." 

"  Oh,  do  you  think  so?  "  said  Jenny.  "  You  do  not  like 
Mr.  Fildes'  Venetian  studies  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  do,"  Philip  replied.  "  They  are  pictures  to 
live  with  ;  might  have  perhaps  a  little  more  of  the  dreamy 
pathetic  atmosphere  of  the  Ocean  City  in  them,  but  there 
is  all  its  spirit  of  beauty  and  color,  I  fancy.  It  is  very  diffi- 
cult to  criticize  pictures  of  Venice.  It  seems  to  me  almost 
a  desperate  thing  to  attempt  them ;  and  yet  I  should  think 
the  highest  inspiration  that  can  come  to  the  painter  should 
be  found  here." 

Philip  talked  fairly  well  when  he  took  up  his  cue,  but  it 
was  painfully  apparent  both  to  Walter  and  his  wife  that 
Dolly  took  little  or  no  interest  in  the  conversation. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Dolly?  "  asked  Walter. 

'*  The  matter,"  she  said,  turning  her  gaze  from  tne  open 
window  to  the  questioner.  "  Nothing  is  the  matter.  I 
suppose  I  feel  as  Philip  felt  last  night  on  the  Grand  Canal, 
that  there  are  scenes  in  the  world  so  beautiful  and  sur- 
prising that  they  are  apt  to  make  one  silent  rather  than 
talkative." 


BV  ORDER  OF  TItfi:  CZAH.  V^ 

•*  It  is  indeed  a  marvelous  sight,"  said  Philip,  "and  I 
quite  sympathize  with  Dolly." 

"  But  it  seems  to  me,"  said  Jenny,  "  it  is  an  entirely 
different  thing  from  our  first  night's  experiences.  All  is 
gaiety,  brightness  and  light  to-night ;  lanterns  and  music 
and  festivity.  I  don't  see  why  this  should  make  anyone 
sad." 

"  Not  sad  exactly,"  said  Dolly,     but  silent." 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  nonsense  ! "  Jenny  replied,  getting  up 
and  putting  her  arm  round  Dolly's  waist.  "  You  are  not 
well,  or  something  is  the  matter.  Perhaps  Mr.  Forsyth 
can  tell  us." 

•*  Dolly  is  a  little  pensive,  that  is  all,  I  think,"  said  Philip. 
"  Tired,  perhaps  ;  we  have  done  a  good  deal  to-day,  you 
must  remember." 

"  And  have  a  good  deal  more  to  do,"  said  Jenny. 
*'  Come  with  me,  Dolly  ;  you  must  lie  down  for  ten  minutes, 
and  a  little  Eau-de-Cologne  will  refresh  you.  Walter  and 
Philip  will  excuse  us." 

Jenny  accompanied  Dolly  to  her  room,  where  Dolly, 
very  much  unlike  her  usual  self,  laid  her  head  upon  Jenny's 
shoulder  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  I  knew  something  was  the  matter,"  said  Jenny. 
"What  is  it,  my  dear?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Dolly.  "  I  fell  vexed  and  dis- 
appointed, and  I  hardly  know  why.  Philip  is  very  kind 
in  his  way,  but  very  different  from  what  I  should  have 
expected." 

"  In  what  way,  my  love?  " 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  engaged  to  a  morbid,  dull,  dreamy 
person,  who  talks  of  nothing  but  serious  things — destiny, 
the  mysteries  of  the  soul,  the  higher  missions  of  life,  and 
all  sorts  of  subjects  utterly  out  of  place  on  a  holiday  such 
as  this." 

"  But,  my  dear,  why  don't  you  tell  him  so.  You  should 
lead  the  couversation  into  the  direction  that  pleases  you." 


•lo  By  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

"I  can't/'  said  Dolly,  wiping  her  eyes  and  standing 
erect.  "  I  feel  as  if  he  was  talking  for  the  sake  of  talking. 
There  seems  to  be  no  sympathy  between  us,  no  thoughts 
in  common.  If  I  try  to  speak  about  music  and  art,  and  re- 
member some  of  the  great  names  and  achievements  of 
Italy,  he  caps  me  with  some  far  wiser  thought  than  mine, 
and  does  it,  it  seems  to  me,  in  a  patronizing  manner,  as  if 
I  were  a  fool.  But  I  will  not  bear  it.  If  he  is  as  dis- 
appointed as  I  amwith  the  engagement  about  which  so  much 
fuss  has  been  made,  I  would  like  him  to  break  it  off  at 
once.     Don't  give  me  Eau-de-Cologne,  I  don't  want  it." 

"My  dear,  my  dear,  you  are  beside  yourself!  At  least 
put  a  little  Eau-de-Cologne  on  your  handkerchief  and 
bathe  your  face.  Your  eyes  are  red,  and  you  will  be 
positively  unpresentable  at  the  Fazio  Palace  if  you  do  not 
lie  down  and  calm  yourself." 

"  Very  well,  I  will.  Do  forgive  me,  Jenny.  I  am  very 
miserable.  I  meant  to  be  very  happy,  and  I  will  yet,  in 
spite  of  Mr.  Philip  Forsyth.  Cannot  you  see  how  strange 
he  is  ?  Of  course  you  can — talking  in  that  highly  superior, 
poetic,  dreamy,  silly,  idiotic  way  about  Venetian  models 
and  rubbish  ! " 

Dolly's  fair  face  flushed  with  anger.  She  hardly  knew 
what  she  was  saying.  But  it  is  the  privilege  of  the  novelist 
to  know  something  of  what  was  passing  in  her  mind.  She 
could  not  help  thinking  how  differently  Sam  Swinford 
would  have  behaved ;  what  a  merry  party  they  would  have 
been ;  how  many  pretty  shops  they  would  have  visited ; 
what  ices  at  Floria's  they  would  have  enjoyed  \  what  water- 
parties,  what  theatres,  what  gaiety  !  Sam  Swinford  would 
not  have  left  Walter  to  initiate  everything  on  a  trip  of  this 
kind;  he  would  have  been  foremost  with  his  pleasant 
suggestions,  his  passing  jokes,  his  ever-open  purse,  his 
genial  thoughtfulness,  his  anticipations  of  every  possible 
want  or  desire  that  would  have  occurred  either  to  her  or  to 


By  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  aSl 

It  is  quite  possible  that  even  in  this  direction  of  pleasant 
companionship  she  might  not  have  had  to  find  fault  with 
Philip  Forsyth,  had  not  that  erratic  genius  had  the  mis- 
fortune to  meet  the  Countess  Stravenski. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

PETRONOVITCH   AND  THE  COUNTESS. 

Comedy  indeed  walked  hand  in  hand  about  Venice  this 
night,  the  strange  beauty  of  which  the  Milbankes  were 
contemplating. 

Already,  as  we  have  seen,  the  shadows  of  Philip's  mad 
passion  for  the  mysterjous  countess  had  begun  to  fall  thick 
and  heavy  upon  his  betrothed,  without  anything  more  to 
justify  the  girl's  forebodings  of  trouble  than  the  instinct 
that  governs  the  judgment  of  women. 

The  gloom  of  coming  trouble  also  began  to  cloud  Philip 
Forsyth's  fancy,  and  to  check  once  more  the  better  sen- 
timents of  his  nature. 

Paul  Petroski's  double  face,  however,  almost  contrived 
to  wear  a  smile  all  over  it.  He  had  been  closeted  with 
Ferrari  during  the  day;  had  been  shown  over  the  Fazio 
Palace ;  had  inspected  the  countess'  boudoir,  and  ex- 
pressed much  admiration  for    the  adjacent  room  that 


38a  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

looked  like  a  strong  stune  prison ;  had  poled  a  gondola 
under  the  window  where  the  countess  had  been  sitting 
thoughtful  and  still ;  not  her  gondola,  not  the  red  boat 
which  had  charmed  and  delighted  Venice,  but  the  genuine 
black-bodied  boat  with  its  funeral  hood. 

The  red  gondola  was  comedy ;  the  black  one  tragedy. 
The  moonlit  scenes  on  the  canal  were  the  bright  comedy 
pictures  that  were  to  lead  up  to  the  tragic  denouement. 

The  meeting  with  Petronovitch  on  the  previous  night, 
as  forecasted  in  a  former  chapter,  was  the  prologue  to  all 
this  ;  and  a  very  delightful  prologue  it  was  to  the  Russian 
general  who  had  governed  in  Vilnavitch  in  the  last  days 
of  the  ghetto  at  Czarovna.  She,  the  divine,  she  of  his 
unholy  Venetian  dreams,  was  his  companion.  The  rendez- 
vous had  in  it  all  the  piquant  force  of  a  romance  that  was 
to  be  deliciously  consummated. 

Ferrari,  it  will  be  remembered,  had  had  his  fears  in 
regard  to  the  memories  that  might  be  revived  in  the  mind 
of  General  Petronovitch ;  but  Anna  Klosstock  had  long 
since  faded  out  of  the  Russian's  mental  vision.  His 
remembrance  of  the  unfortunate  child  of  the  ghetto  had 
been  wiped  out  of  his  mind  by  other  conquests,  and  he 
had  at  no  time  ever  been  troubled  with  an  unruly  con- 
science. Petronovitch,  indeed,  had  discovered  almost  in 
his  youth  that  conscience  is  just  what  you  make  it. 

There  is  a  good  deal  written  that  is  true  about  the 
prickings  of  conscience,  and  ruffians  of  the  deepest  dye 
have  no  doubt  suffered  from  remorse ;  but  Petronovitch 
had  no  difficulties  of  this  kind  mixed  up  with  his  nature. 
He  had  come  into  the  world  armed  with  a  cast-iron  con- 
science, or  with  one  that  he  could  mould  at  his  will ;  it  was 
either  adamant  or  it  was  whatever  he  desired  to  make  it. 
Anyhow  it  was  not  a  factor  in  regard  to  his  ambition  or 
his  desires.  He  was  a  sensualist  and  a  brute ;  not  that 
be  lacked  the  polish  of  courts  as  a  veneer  of  the  brusqueri* 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  483 

of  camps.  He  knew  when  to  put  out  his  gloved  hand ; 
when,  his  grip  of  mail.  Among  women  of  society  he  was 
-greatly  admired;  he  had  the  dash,  and  daring,  and  the 
knack  of  making  the  boldness  of  an  unscrupulous  lover 
appear  to  be  merely  the  frankness  of  a  soldier. 

Petronovitch  was  what  men  call  successful  with  women, 
and  he  regarded  the  impression  he  had  made  upon  the 
Countess  Stravensky  as  not  the  least  gorgeous  feather  in 
his  cap,  and  her  love  not  the  least  renowned  of  the 
memories  he  hoped  to  enshrine  in  his  unholy  storehouse 
of  past  victories.  He  was  on  the  march  to  that  goal  of 
illicit  pleasure  which  now  occupied  all  his  wicked  hopes. 
The  outposts  had  been  captured,  the  citadel  would  capi* 
tulate  at  discretion. 

Know  Anna  again  I  Who  could  possibly  recognize  in 
the  lovely  ?nd  distinguished  Countess  Stravensky  the 
victim  of  devilish  conspiracy  and  lust  whom  Petronovitch 
had  last  seen  broken  and  bleeding  on  the  way  to  the 
hospital,  through  whose  portals  men  and  women  went 
to  their  deaths  or  to  everlasting  exile  in  Siberia. 

So  far  as  Petronovitch  was  concerned  the  revolt  of 
Czarovna  was  as  old  and  forgotten  a  story  as  was  the 
memory  of  his  reception  of  the  queen  of  the  ghetto  at  his 
palace  on  the  night  of  Losinski's  arrest  and  judicial  murder. 
General  Petronovitch  had  risen  to  distinction  and  place 
since  then ;  had  marched  roughshod  through  Turkish 
villages,  and  with  fire  and  sword  over  rebellious  multitudes 
away  in  Central  Asia ;  had  shaken  his  red  right  hand  at 
the  English  flag ;  had  offered  to  carry  his  victorious 
Cossacks  right  up  to  the  Indian  fron'ier  and  onwards ; 
had  been  forgiven  by' his  Imperial  master  for  rash  and 
impolitic  speeches  in  very  admiration  of  his  daring  and 
bravado. 

In  short,  Petronovitch  was  a  famous  soldier  and  patriot 
of  the  mighty  north,  with  whom,  should  the  long  forecasted 


a84  ^y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

great  war  take  place  for  supremacy  in  the  East,  England! 
would  have  to  reckon  in  the  first  attacks  upon  the  distant 
outposts  of  her  empire.  A  great,  successful,  popular  man, 
General  Petronovitch ;  a  libertine,  unfaithful  to  his  wife 
even  in  the  honeymoon ;  a  tyrant,  but  a  soldier  of  re- 
source ;  physically  brave  and  a  favorite  of  the  Russian 
Army. 

He  went  forth  on  that  night  prior  to  the  illuminations 
of  Venice,  the  night  next  to  that  of  the  countess'  reception, 
with  the  feelings  of  a  conqueror  who  could  no  more  be 
resisted  in  the  tents  of  Cupid  than  in  the  camp  of 
Mars.  And  yet  he  sat  at  his  inamorata's  feet  in  professed 
humble  worship  of  her  beauty,  grateful  for  her  gentle 
condescension,  and  Anna  plied  him  with  sweet  words  and 
suggested  promises  that  fooled  him  to  the  top  of  his  bent 

She  was  dreamy,  poetical,  allowed  her  soft  hand  to  be 
pressed.  How  Philip  would  have  hated  Petronovitch, 
and  her  too,  perhaps,  could  he  have  had  a  glimpse  of  the 
wooing  of  the  Russian  general  and  the  responsive  murmurs 
of  the  violet-eyed  countess. 

It  was  well  that  the  general  did  not  see  Anna's  face, 
except  in  the  subdued  light  of  the  moon ;  nor,  indeed, 
note  the  satisfied  smile  of  the  principal  gondolier,  Paul 
Petroski,  who  was  busy  with  thoughts  that  alternately 
influenced  the  sinister  side  of  his  mouth,  and  alternately 
the  comedy  side,  though  the  sinister  gave  a  touch  of  its 
cynicism  to  the  other. 

It  was  a  glorious  night,  as  Petronovitch  had  more  than 
once  r  marked,  and  there  was  music  on  the  water;  and 
more  particularly  the  song  of  pleasure.  Funiculi  Funcula, 
and  the  Ave  Maria  too.  The  gondoliers  had  joined  ia 
the  last  verses  of  the  former,  and  Petronovitch  himself 
had  hummed  the  Italian  words  as  he  stole  his  arm  round 
Anna's  waist.  She,  too,  had  chanted  some  lines  of  the 
chorus  with  a  merry  abandon;  for,  with  a  gay  ferocity. 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  285 

she  looked  forward  to  the  morrovir,  when  the  companion 
of  this  moonlit  hour  should  meet  her  in  that  quiet,  secret 
boudoir  of  the  Fazio  Palace : — 

*  EUe'i  montata,  il  sai,  lassd,  montata 
La  testa  ^  gia ; 
£  andata  sino  in  cima  e  poi  tomata 

E  sempre  qua ! 
La  testa  gira,  gira  intornOj  intorno, 

Intorno  a  te 
E  il  dore  canta  come  il  primo  giorao 
Ti  spdsa  a  me  1 
'  Liesti !  Lesti  I  via  !  montiam  su  U 1 
Funiculi !  Funiculi ! 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 


Ferrari's  cue. 


It  will  be  easy  to  conceive  that  after  this  excursion,  the 
Countess  Stravensky  would  find  no  difficulty  in  obtaining 
the  general's  consent  to  a  private  visit  to  the  Fazio  Palace 
an  hour  before  the  reception  on  the  night  of  the  illumina- 
tions. 

As  the  clock  struck  nine,  General  Petronovitch,  who 
had  acted  strictly  upon  the  countess'  instructions,  left 
his  palace  secretly,  dressed  for  the  reception^  but  care- 
fully enveloped  in  his  cloak,  he  walked  along  the  shaded 


Ah  me  !  'tis  strange  that  some  should  take  to  sighing, 

And  like  it  well ; 
For  me,  I  have  not  thought  it  worth  the  trying, 

So  cannot  tell. 
With  laugh,  and  dance,  and  song,  the  day  soon  passes, 

Full  soon  is  ^one ; 
For  mirth  was  made  for  joyous  lads  and  lasses 

To  call  their  own. 
listen  I  lirten !  hark  1  the  soit  guitar  1 
FunicuU  I  Funiculi  1 


286  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

trottoir  of  the  little  canal,  and  found  the  doorway  of  the 
Fazio  Palace  open— the  doorway  leading  to  the  passage 
which  opened  upon  the  countess'  private  apartments. 

These  Venetian  palaces,  one  would  imagine,  were  built 
as  much  for  purposes  of  love  and  intrigue,  as  for  artistic 
luxury  and  architectural  beauty.  General  Petronovitch 
easily  succeeded  in  making  his  way  to  the  balcony  room, 
where  the  countess  had  given  her  instructions  to  Ferrari, 
without  exciting  attention  or  remark.  He  found  her  lady- 
ship reclining  upon  the  yellow  cushions  of  a  rich  silken 
couch,  her  beautiful  figure  enveloped  in  an  ample  tea- 
gown.  He  had  closed  the  doors  behind  him  as  she  had 
requested ;  had  met  no  one  coming  or  going,  heard  no 
signs  of  life  ;  felt  that  he  had  obtained  a  precious  privilege, 
and  this  thought  was  the  essence  of  his  opening  salutation. 

He  did  not  know  how  closely  and  fatally  those  doors 
had  closed  behind  him.  He  was  in  a  fool's  paradise ;  and 
the  fool  was  happy  !  A  sensualist,  he  was  proud  of  his 
conquest.  His  small  eyes  gloated  upon  Anna's  pale  face 
as  he  kissed  her  hand,  and  took  the  seat  it  had  indicated 
by  her  side. 

"  You  think  me  very  weak,  I  am  sure,  general,"  she 
said  ;  "  but  what  is  woman's  strength  but  weakness  ?  " 

"  Her  strength,"  said  the  general,  pressing  her  hand, 
"  lies  in  her  generosity." 

"  And  man's  ?  "  she  said  interrogatively. 

"  Irt  his  appreciation,"  he  replied,  promptly. 

"Ah,  you  have  made  these  affairs  of  the  heart  a  study." 

"  What  else  in  life,"  he  said,  "  is  worth  serious  atten- 
tion ?  " 

"  Oh,  there  are  other  matters  of  moment.  You  must 
have  felt  them  in  the  exercise  of  your  noble  profession 
many  a  time." 

"  Never  as  keenly,"  he  said,  "  as  the  natural  interest  a 
man  feels  in  a  beautiful  woman ;  especially  when  she 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  1»l 

grants  him  the  delicious  privilege  you  have  granted  me." 

He  stole  his  arm  about  her  as  he  spoke.  She  made  a 
gentle  movement  which  was  neither  compliance  nor  re- 
sistance, and  continued  the  conversation. 

"  But  you  are  a  great  general,  sir.  You  must  in  your 
career  have  taken  part  in  many  heroic  scenes.  Your  vic- 
tory over  the  Kurds  was  magnificent." 

"  You  think  so  ?  "  he  said,  smiling.  "  I  prefer  my  vic- 
tory of  to-night." 

''Your  triumphant  march  through  Central  Asia  is 
historic." 

''  My  meeting  with  the  Countess  Stravensky  at  Venice 
will  be  longer  remembered." 

"  Tell  me,  general,  what  was  your  first  great  achieve- 
ment in  the  service  of  our  good  father,  the  Ciar  ?  " 

"  Great  achievements,  my  dear  countess,  become  small 
when  the  achiever  talks  of  them." 

''  But  remember,  general,  that  a  woman  loves  to  hear 
her  hero  narrate  his  victories.  Don't  you  remember  that 
it  was  with  the  eloquent  tongue  of  the  soldier  that  Othello 
won  Desdeniona,  and  it  was  here,  on  one  of  these  bal- 
conies that  the  Moorish  commander  came  and  held  friendly 
and  romantic  converse  with  the  maiden  and  her  father  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Petronovitch,  "  and  it  was  here,  also,  I 
presume,  where  she  fell  a  victim  to  the  black  man's  jeal- 
ousy. If  I  had  been  Othello — for  your  sake  I  would 
even  have  been  black — and  you  had  been  Desdemona,  I 
should  have  understood  you  better ;  should  have  loved 
and  trusted  you.  I  would  never  have  been  jealous  j  I 
would  never  have  killed  you,  except  with  kindness ;  and 
then  we  would  have  crossed  the  dark  river  together  ! " 

"  My  dear  general,"  the  countess  replied,  turning  her 
great  eyes  full  upon  him,  and  with  to  him  what  appeared 
to  be  a  most  fascinating  smile,.  "  if  all  this  be  true  you  are 
indeed  in  love." 


a88  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

"  I  am,"  he  said ;  "  most  truly,  most  devotedly." 

She  laid  her  head  upon  his  shoulder,  and  a  little  shiver 
of  hate  ran  through  her  veins. 

**  He  didn't  like  the  parting  with  his  daughter,  that  old 
Venetian/'  she  said.  "  I  had  a  father  once — have  now, 
somewhere  in  the  world ;  and  I  would  give  my  life  to 
embrace  him  once  agsin  !  " 

*'  You  are  in  a  very  reflective  mood,"  said  the  general. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  the  mood  comes  with  thinking  of 
your  victories  and  the  shadows  thac  follow  their  sunshine. 
You  triumphed  once,  did  you  not ;  most  completely  and 
with  great  honor  in  suppressing  the  rising  against  the  Jews, 
in  the  Province  of  Vilnavitch?  Ah,  that  was  kind  of  you, 
to  protect  with  your  strong  Russian  hand  those  poor 
Hebrew  people !  You  know,  of  course,  that  I  am  a 
Jewess  ?  " 

"  No  other  race  could  give  to  the  world  so  beautiful  a 
creature,"  said  the  general,  pressing  his  lips  upon  her 
forehead. 

"  It  is  the  nature  of  love  to  flatter,"  she  said ;  "  and 
you  do  not  care  to  talk  of  your  generous  deeds.  Our 
Russian  fellow-subjects  had  a  fit  of  madness,  had  they 
not,  in  those  days  against  my  people  ?  At  a  place  called 
Czarovna,  if  I  remember  the  name  rightly,  they  had  made 
for  themselves,  as  far  as  possible  in  Russia,  what  may  be 
called  a  paradise.  It  was  as  if  their  father  Abraham  had 
brought  them  at  last  to  something  like  a  land  flowing  with 
milk  and  honey." 

*'  Yes,  I  believe  so,"  said  the  general,  absorbed  in  his 
admiration  of  the  woman  whom  he  pressed  still  closer  to 
his  side. 

"  You  helped  the  poor  people,  and  put  down  the  insur- 
rection, is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"  Well,  not  quite  that,  I  fear,"  he  said,  "  I  was  the 
Czar's  officer  j  I  tried  to  do  my  duty»" 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  ^         089 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  you  would,  dear  general,  and  in  so  do- 
ing show  your  appreciation  of  the  fine  character  and  domes- 
tic instincts  of  the  Czarovna  Jew — I  am  sure  you  did.  It 
was  like  you,  like  Russia,  like  our  holy  father  the  Czar  I 
Do  you  remember  the  name  of  Klosstock  ?  My  dear  dead 
Count  Stravensky,  I  remember,  mentioned  him  to  me  as  a 
very  worthy  man  ;  I  think  he  had  some  busin-^ss  dealings 
with  him.* 

"  No,  I  don't  remember,"  said  the  general,  a  little  out 
of  patience  with  the  direction  in  which  the  countess  forced 
the  conversation.  "It  was  so  long  ago,  and  so  many 
events  have  happened." 

"  Yuu  do  not  care  to  talk  of  these  things,"  she  said.  "  I 
am  very  sorry.'' 

He  felt  that  she  drew  herself  from  him,  and  no  longer 
responded  to  his  attempted  embraces. 

"  My  dear  countess,  I  care  to  talk  of  anything  that  may 
interest  you.  Believe  me,  I  have  no  other  desire  than  to 
be  your  slave." 

"  There  was  a  young  woman  in  Czarovna — I  think  it 
must  be  talking  of  Desdemona  and  her  father  that  has 
made  me  recall  some  strange  circumstances  which  came 
to  the  knowledge  of  my  dear  dead  husband,  Count  Stra- 
vensky— they  called  her  *  Queen  of  the  Ghetto,'  do  you 
remember  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  think  I  do  ;  but  as  I  said  before,  it 
is  so  long  ago,  and  so  many  things  have  happened  in  the 
time  that  has  passed  between  then  and  now." 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  said,  "  it  is  not  so  long  ago,  my  dear 
general ;  not  tojier,  at  least,  nor  to  her  father,  nor  to  the 
rabbi  to  whom  she  was  betrothed  !  " 

Petronovitch  felt  an  increasing  resistance  of  his  blan- 
dishments, as  the  countess  recalled  to  his  mind  the 
tragedy  of  Czarovna,  which  he  now  began  himself  to  re- 
member with  unwelcome  distinctness^ 

19 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

"  To  her,"  she  said,  rising  and  putting  aside  his  arm, 
<Mt  is  as  yesterday.  To  her  the  pain  is  as  keen  this 
moment  as  it  was  then." 

She  faced  him  calmly,  but  with  flashing  eyes,  as. he  rose 
to  his  feet,  and  her  hand  was  busv  with  a  diamond  buckle 
at  her  neck. 

"  Do  you  remember  how  you  kept  your  promise  to  that 
woman?  Do  you  remember  the  base  proposals  she  re- 
sented? Do  you  remember  how  you  undertook  to  release 
her  lover?  Do  you  remember  how  you  outraged  your 
promised  protection  ?  How  you  slew  her  lover  and  left 
the  cruel  marks  of  your  savage  nature  uport  her,  body  and 
soul  ?    You  do  :  I  see  you  do  1 " 

General  Petronovitch  had  turned  pale  as  she  spoke,  had 
stepped  back  from  her  as  if  to  receive  the  spring  of  some 
wild  animal. 

Unclasping  the  diamond  buckle,  she  flung  aside  her 
robe  and  disclosed  the  peasant  costume  of  Czarovna,  and 
there  stood  before  him,  his  victim,  Anna  Klosstock. 

This  was  the  cue  for  which  Ferrari  h-'d  waited.  Before 
Petronovitch  couH  utter  the  exclamation  of  surprise  that 
was  on  his  lips,  tht  lith»,  steaUhy  form  of  Ferrari  had 
seized  him  from  behind,  and  h^'"  gnm  assistant,  Paul  Pet- 
roski,  stood  by  the  doorwaj', 

The  general  made  no  resistance.  lie  had  received  a 
moral  blow  from  Anna  Klosstock  ihat  for  the  moment  had 
struck  him  down  as  firmly  as  any  physical  assault.  He 
was  bound  and  gagged,  and  flung  upon  the  couch  where, 
a  few  minutes  previously,  he  had  congratulated  himself 
upon  his  conquest  over  the  beautiful  woman  who  had  so 
soon  become  the  talk  of  Venice. 

"  I  will  not  indulge  myself,"  said  Anna,  "  in  the  further 
recall  of  that  crime  of  Czarovna.  I  have  looked  forward  to 
this  day  for  years,  hourly — had  it  in  my  mind  every  min- 
ute— and  have  seen  myself  revelling  in  the  denunciations 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  «0| 

I  should  fling  at  you.  But  that  is  past !  My  mission  is 
no  longer  one  of  revenge,  but  of  justice.  You  pronounced 
the  verdict  upon  the  Rabbi  Losinski — you  pronounced 
the  verdict  upon  Johannes  Klosstock,  the  best  man,  the 
kindest  father  that  ever  drew  breath — you,  first  ruining 
your  victim  beyond  all  repair,  pronounced  the  verdict 
upon  his  daughter,  Anna  Klosstock — she  now  pronounces 
the  verdict  upon  you  ;  not  in  her  own  name,  but  in  the 
name  of  the  patriotic  Brotherhood  of  the  Dawn,  who 
have  sworn  as  far  as  in  them  lies  to  rid  their  beloved 
Russia  and  all  the  world  of  such  pests  as  you.  The 
only  torture  you  will  undergfo  is  that  which  must  now 
afflict  you.  You  sent  my  people  of  Czarovna  before 
the  High  Throne  of  God  with  their  sins  thick  upon 
their  heads.  Your  Church  declares  it  possible  for  the 
sinner  to  be  forgiven  at  the  last  moment.  You  have  ten 
minutes  to  make  your  peace  with  the  God  you  profess  to 
serve  :  and  the  joyous  music  of  the  Countess  Stravensky's 
reception  will  be  your  requiem  !  Remove  the  enemy  of  God 
and  man.    Report  to  me  his  death  at  ten  *. " 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

AFTER  FERRARI'S  REPORT. 

As  gondola  atler  gondola  came  dashing  along  the  Grand 
Canal,  and  pulling  up  with  that  sudden  and  remarkable 
precision  so  characteristic  of  this  famous  Venetian  boat, 
the  Countess  Stravensky  left  her  boudoir  and  prepared  to 
receive  her  guests.  Ferrari  at  the  same  moment  passed 
out  of  the  adjacent  room,  the  steps  of  which  led  down  to 
the  palace's  tiny  quay  beneath  her  ladyship's  window. 

"  Czarovna  is  avenged,"  he  said,  taking  the  white  hand 
she  held  out  to  him  and  kissing  it. 


992  ^y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

"  Dear  old  friend  1 "  she  said,  "  I  give  you  the  kiss  of 
gratitude." 

She  kissed  him  on  both  cheeks. 

"  Come  to  me  at  midnight — the  same  way,"  pointing  to 
the  an ic  room,  "we  must  confer.*' 

The  old  clock  by  the  doorway  solemnly  beat  out  the 
hour  of  ten. 

"  Punctual  ever,"  she  said,  "  and  true,  dear  friend.  To- 
night we  will  talk  of  Czarovna  and  the  ghetto." 

"  And  of  to-morrow,"  said  Ferrari,  significantly. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  **  of  to-morrow  !  " 

The  next  moment  she  disappeared  behind  the  portiere 
into  the  adjoining  room,  where  her  maid  awaited  her,  and 
thence  with  stately  tread  to  the  head  of  the  grand  staircase 
of  the  palace.     She  was  radiant.  i 

Her  dress  was  nothing  short  of  an  inspiration,  so  plain 
was  it,  yet  so  effective.  The  general  impression  it  seemed 
to  convey  was  that  of  a  rich  brocade  which,  despite  its 
splendor,  gave  to  the  figure  and  fell  in  pliable  and  ever- 
changing  folds.  With  the  exception  of  a  rich  lace  stoma- 
cher it  was  made  high  to  the  throat,  as  were  all  the  coun- 
tess' costumes,  for  reasons  which  the  reader  may  probably 
guess.  Lest  he  should  be  in  doubt,  let  it  be  at  once  re- 
marked, by  the  way,  that  the  stripes  of  the  Russian  knout 
go  down  to  the  grave  with  the  victim  who  bears  them. 

The  hostess  had  referred  to  this  in  her  tragic  address  to 
the  cruel  Governor  of  Czarovna,  the  famous  Russian  gen- 
eral, who,  in  his  death  agony,  had  heard  that  requiem 
music  of  which  she  had  spoken. 

While  the  festal  strains  were  still  rippling  from  the  hid- 
den orchestra,  he  lay  dead  and  awaiting  the  silent  disposi- 
tion of  his  executioners. 

The  countess  knew  this,  and  her  cheeks  flushed  :  she 
knew  it,  and  her  heart  beat  with  rapture ;  she  knew  it,  and 
thought  of  her  father  away  in  the  Siberian  wilds  \  she  knew 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  293 

it,  and  more  than  once  had  to  make  an  tffort  to  keep  back 
her  tears. 

The  lights  of  hundreds  of  wax  candles  played  upon  her 
red-gold  hair,  and  deepened  the  deep  red  shadows  in  her 
brocaded  gown.  A  great  solitaire  diamond  flashed  in  a 
thousand  changing  hues  at  her  throat,  and  the  star  of  some 
Russian  order  lay  upon  the  faded  lace  of  her  stomacher. 

The  palace  was  a  blaze  of  light,  the  atmosphere  sweet  with 
the  perfume  of  flowers,  the  soft,  winning  harmonies  of  lute 
and  zither  came  from  an  unseen  orchestra. 

Philip  and  his  friends  were  among  the  first  arrivals.  In 
his  wildest  dreams  the  young  artist  had  not  yet  realized 
the  impressiveness  of  his  gracious  model's  beauty.  On 
this  dreamy  night  in  Venice,  in  his  eyes  she  looked  like 
the  divine  impersonation  of  the  city  itself.  There  was  an 
added  touch,  it  seemed  to  him,  a  deeper,  richer  tone  in  her 
wavy  red-gold  hair;  there  was  an  unaccustomed  flush 
upon  her  usually  pale  cheeks  ;  her  violet  eyes  reflected 
back  the  blazing  lights  around  her.  She  seemed  taller  in 
his  estimation,  and  moved  about  with  the  dignity  of  Juno 
and  the  inviting  grace  of  Venus.  He  saw  no  one  else, 
heard  no  othe'r  voice  than  hers.  He  left  the  side  of  Dolly 
abruptly  to  greet  her,  then  in  the  same  fashion  returned  ; 
felt  himself  under  a  spell  he  could  not  break. 

The  countess  noticed  his  confusion,  and  thought  of  her 
betrothed  of  the  ghetto.  Philip,  in  her  excited  state  of 
mind,  seemed  for  the  moment  as  a  recompense  sent  to  her 
by  Fate.  But  she  shook  herself  free  of  the  thought  as 
quickly  as  it  came,  and  tried  to  place  herself  in  the  position 
of  his  fianc6e.  The  next  moment  it  occurred  to  her  that 
Philip  did  not  love  the  English  girl,  that  she  herself  swayed 
his  heart.  The  great  object  of  her  life  accomplished  with 
the  death  of  Petronovitch,  it  crept  into  her  mind  to  reflect 
again  how  bitter  her  lot  had  been,  how  little  of  love,  how 
much  of  misery ;  and  as  a  fascinating  temptation,  the  sug- 


iM  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

gestion  crept  into  her  soul  to  accept  the  incense  Philip  was 
ready  to  burn  at  her  altar ;  nay,  to  respond  as  her  heart 
was  inclined  to  his  passion !  But  better  thoughts  came 
almost  simultaneously  with  the  bad  ones— the  antidote  with 
the  poison. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you/'  she  said,  taking  Mrs.  Mil- 
banke  by  the  hand  with  special  cordiality,  '^  it  is  so  good 
of  you  to  come.^' 

"  It  was  so  sweet  of  you  to  ask  us,**  Jenny  responded. 

"  How  beautiful  your  sister  is  1  You  English  have  such 
superb  complexions ! " 

Then  receiving  Dolly,  she  said,  "  My  dear,  I  congratu- 
late Mr.  Forsyth  ;  forgive  one  so  much  your  elder  for 
venturing  to  offer  a  criticism  ;  you  are  lovely,  and  what  a 
becoming  dress  1  Ah  1  here  is  your  fiancie,  Mr.  Forsyth, 
I  congratulate  you  ;  how  happy  you  must  be  !  And  what 
do  you  think  of  Venice  ?  Does  it  realize  all  you  dreamt 
of?     It  is  strangely  beautiful  and  romantic,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Indeed  it  is,"  said  Philip,  his  hand  trembling  in  hers, 
his  voice  quivering. 

"  Full  of  subjects  for  the  painter;  and  what  tragedies 
in  its  history  1  Ah,  well  you  must  not  think  of  them  ;  light 
gay  comedy  is  for  you,  is  it  not  so  ?  And  this  is  Mr.  Wal- 
ter Milbanke.  I  am  sure  I  do  not  require  an  introduction, 
I  have  heard  so  much  of  him." 

"  You  are  very  good  to  say  so — not  too  much,  I  hope," 
Walter  replied.  "  But  we  must  not  keep  you  from  your 
guests  ;  there  are  so  many  waiting  for  the  pleasure  of  your 
recognition." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  countess,  bestowing  a  general 
smile  upon  the  entire  group,  "  we  shall  meet,  no  doubt,  on 
the  canal  later  ;  the  illuminations  are  something  wonderful ; 
you  know  my  gondola  ;  do  not  let  us  pass  each  other  later 
without  a  salute.  I  shall  be  so  delighted  to  see  you  all 
again." 


SF  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  99$ 

Then  she  gave  her  attention  to  other  guests,  and  Philip 
followed  her  with  his  eyes  as  one  in  a  dream.  Jenny  spoke 
to  him,  Walter  spoke  to  him,  Dolly  stood  by  his  side.  He 
heard  them  not,  saw  them  not.  Several  guests  noticed  his 
wrapt  attention  and  smiled.  It  was  plain  to  see  that  the 
hostess  had  made  a  conquest  of  the  young  Englishman,  and 
that  he  did  not  attempt  to  resist  the  spell  she  had  cast 
upon  him. 

''  She  is  indeed  a  magnificent  woman,*'  remarked  one 
Venetian  to  another,  "  a  Jewess,  I  believe ;  might  be  a 
Venetian  instead  of  a  Russian ;  has  the  features  of  the  old 
masters,  the  hair  too ;  our  own  Titian  might  have  painted 
her." 

"  The  young  fellow  who  is  evidently  annoying  his  lady 
companions  is  perhaps  an  artist,  and  thinking  as  you  think/' 
said  the  other,  disappearing  among  the  throng. 

Jenny  overheard  this,  and  for  a  moment  tried  to  think  as 
the  stranger  suggested,  that  Philip's  admiration  was  the  ad- 
miration of  the  painter  ;  but  she  soon  gave  up  that  excuse 
and  felt  herself  insulted  through  her  sister  Dolly. 

Presently  Philip,  with  some  foolish  excuse  or  other,  left 
them  only  for  a  moment,  he  said,  to  speak  to  an  artist 
whom  he  would  like  them  to  know ;  but  a  few  minutes 
later  it  seemed  as  if  this  was  only  an  excuse  to  be  once 
more  within  the  brilliant  circle  which  continually  sur- 
rounded the  countess. 

Jenny  could  no  longer  restrain  herself  All  her  desire 
to  see  and  be  seen  in  Venetian  society,  all  her  worldliness, 
all  her  love  of  society,  vanished  in  her  sense  of  pride  and 
in  her  love  for  Dolly. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said  to  Walter,  the  moment  there  was 
an  opportunity  to  speak  to  him,  "  he  is  madly  in  love 
with  that  woman.  We'have  made  a  mistake;  his  engage- 
ment to  Dolly  is  ours  rather  than  his ;  it  must  not  go  on  ; 
Dolly  must  not  be  sacrificed  to  her  match-making  sister." 


pff  BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

"  My  dear  Jenny,"  said  Walter,  "  you  are  beside  your- 
self. It  is  his  artistic  temperament  that  is  at  fault,  not  his 
heart.  And  what  do  you  mean  by  '  match-makinfj;  sister?' 
You  have  done  nothing  to  force  this  engagement." 

"  Yes,  I  have ;  yes,  I  have,"  said  Jenny  quickly.  "  Sam 
Swinford  says  there  is  an  underlying  stratum  of  snobbish- 
ness in  what  we  call  our  social  life  in  London ;  he  is  right, 
and  we  have  sacrificed  Dolly  to  that  wretched  fetish." 

"  My  dear,  my  dear,"  said  Walter,  "  don't  excite  your- 
self.    People  are  looking  at  us." 

"  Philip  isn't,"  said  Jenny,  "  he  has  eyes  for  no  one  but 
that  woman.  Look  at  our  poor  Dolly — she  sees  it ;  so 
does  the  countess." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Walter,  "  my  dear,  be  calm.  For 
heaven's  sake,  don't  let  us  have  a  scene.     We  will  leave." 

*'  But  the  gondola  ?  "  said  Jenny.  » 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  Walter. 

"  I  mean  the  procession — I  don't  know  what  I  mean. 
Were  we  not  going  out  to  join  the  company  on  the 
canal?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Walter,  "  and  we  will  if  you  will  be 
calm.  There  is  no  chance  of  saying  or  doing  anything  at 
present ;  we  will  talk  it  over.  I  will  discuss  it  with  Philip. 
Don't  let  us  lead  up  to  the  usual  criticism  of  the  English 
abroad.     Here  comes  Dolly." 

"  And  there  goes  Philip,"  said  Jenny.     "  He  is  crazy." 

"He  is  looking  for  Dolly,"  said  Walter. 

"  Not  he,"  said  Jenny. 

"  But  he  is,  my  dear,"  said  Walter,  "  see,  he  is  turning 
now."  At  which  moment  Philip  came  towards  them, 
following  Dolly,  who  answered  the  inquiring  gaze  of  her 
sister  with  a  defiant  expression  in  her  eyes,  but  not  without 
tears. 

"  My  dear,  there  is  something  wrong,"  said  Jenny,  draw- 
ing Dolly  on  one  side,  "  your  instinct  was  right ;  I  have 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAlf,  iff 

not  mentioned  anything  you  said  to  Walter  ;  but  he  and  I 
both  have  been  very  sensible  of  Philip's  behavior  to  night ; 
be  calm,  love;  don't  fret;  we  will  put  it  all  right;  take 
your  cue  from  me.     You  shall  not  be  sacrificed." 

Dolly  pressed  Jenny's  arm,  and  Mrs.  Milbanke  put  on 
her  best  manner.  She  had  some  of  the  gifts  of  the  natural 
actress.  Now  was  the  time,  she  thought,  to  give  them 
play. 

"  Delightful,  is  it  not,  Philip  ?  "  she  said,  "  a  lovely 
scene." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  it  is." 

"  The  countess  is  a  lovely  creature." 

"  Is  she  not  ?  "  he  replied. 

"  Everybody  can  see  you  think  so,"  she  went  on,  laugh- 
ing coquettishly.     "  Oh,  you  men,  you  men  !  " 

Philip  blushed  and  looked  at  Dolly,  who  tossed  her  head 
defiantly,  and  took  Walter's  arm. 

"  I  Want  to  show  you  the  canal  from  the  balcony,"  he 
said.     "  Philip  will  give  his  arm  to  Jenny." 

Philip  did  so. 

"  We  will  follow  Walter,"  said  Jenny. 

Philip  had  now  an  opportunity  of  seeing  that  the  coun- 
tess was  not  the  only  woman  present  who  was  attracting 
attention.  Both  women  and  men  noticed  the  youthful 
English  beauty.  Dolly  was  not  blind  to  this  unspoken 
admiration.  Her  gait  had  all  the  healthful  firmness  of  her 
tennis-playing  countrywomen.  She  held  herself  with  a 
natural  gracefu  ness.  Her  complexion  was  fair  as  it  was 
rich.  Her  lips  red,  her  smile  sweet,  frank  and  unsophis- 
ticated. In  her  pale  blue  Duchesse  dress,  and  wiih  her 
white  round  shoulders,  her  shining  yellow  hair  in  a  high 
coif,  and  her  deep  blue  eyes,  she  was  an  exceptionally  fine 
type  of  British  beauty,  and  may  be  said  to  have  divided 
the  honors  of  the  evening  in  the  opinion  of  a  brilliant 
assembly,  so  far  as  beaury  and  distinction  were  concerned, 
with  the  hostess  herself. 


^98  ^y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

"  How  well  Dolly  looks  to-night,"  said  Jenny  to  Philip. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  but  she  always  looks  well." 

"  Lacks  that  pasty  kind  of  complexion  that  painters 
admire,  though  ?  " 

"  I  think  not,"  he  said. 

"  Has  not  the  cliarm  that  foreign  women  have  then,  is 
that  it?" 

"  I  think  she  has  every  charm  a  woman  can  desire,  or  a 
man  who  seeks  a  good  and  beautiful  wife." 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Forsyth,"  continued  Jenny,  "  you  are 
cither  a  fool  or  you  think  Dolly  is.  Don't  start,  it  will  be 
noticed.  If  I  were  Walter,  do  you  know  how  I  should 
view  your  conduct  to-night  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Milbanke  1 "  exclaimed  Philip.  "  I  do  not  un- 
derstand you." 

"  I  think  I  understand  you,  sir,"  said  Jenny,  losing  all 
that  wonderful  calmness  and  control  of  herself  which  she 
had  resolved  five  minutes  previously  to  exercise. 

"  If  you  do,  it  is  hardly  polite  to  say  so  in  such  offensive 
terms." 

"  Do  not  let  go  my  arm,"  said  Jenny.  *'  I  do  not  wish 
to  attract  attention ;  you  have  done  enough  in  that  direc- 
tion already." 

"  I !  "  Philip  exclaimed. 

"  You,"  said  Jenny.  "  You  have  had  no  eyes  for  any- 
one, no  thoughts  for  anyone  since  our  arrival  except  for 
this  countess,  this  mysterious  woman  who  gives  you  sit- 
tings and  makes  her  appearance  in  Venice  unexpectedly, 
when  she  has  learnt  from  you  that  you  are  paying  a  visit  to 
the  place.  Your  neglect  of  Doily  to-night,  sir,  your  con- 
tinual, your  undivided  attention  to  that  red-haired  woman, 
sir,  has  been  in  the  nature  of  an  insult  to  Dolly,  to  me,  and 
to  Walter.  Keep  my  arm,  sir  !  The  honor  may  not  be 
repeated,  and,  as  I  said  before,  I  do  not  want  to  make  a 
scene." 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  299 

Jenny  was  simply  beside  herself  wilh  passion. 

."  Pray,  my  dear  Mrs.  Milbanke,  moderate  youi  ivords  ; 
we  will  discuss  my  conduct  at  the  hotel ;  I  will  explain, 
and  you  will  explain  ;  I  assure  you,  meanwhile,  nothing  is 
further  from  my  thoughts  than  to  desire  to  be  unkind  to 
you,  or  to  Dolly  or  to  Walter  ;  if  I  have  seemed  strange  I 
am  sorry,  but  pray  do  me  the  justice  to  believe  that  it 
would  be  impossible  to  insult  you ;  I  may  have  seemed 
strange ;  I  have  felt  so,  but " 

He  was  interrupted  by  Walter,  who  turned  round  on  the 
moment  to  direct  their  attention  to  the  assembling  of  the 
boats  outside  the  palace,  and  the  pause  in  the  general 
gathering  to  witness  and  greet  the  new  arrivals.  "  I  think 
we  ought  to  make  our  way  to  the  exit  now,"  said  Walter, 
"  I  see  Beppo  and  his  comrade ;  and  (waving  his  hand) 
they  see  me.  Yes,  I  will  let  them  know  that  we  are  com- 
ing." Walter  waved  his  hand  again,  and  then  proceeded 
to  lead  the  way,  following  them  amidst  the  general  exodus 
of  the  company  towards  the  grand  staircase. 

The  scene  was  novel  beyond  description.  The  marble 
staircase  gave  upon  the  grand  canal  which  was  all  alive  with 
traffic,  and  all  ablaze  with  color.  The  night  was  lighted  up 
by  one  lamp  above  away  in  the  shining  heavens,  and  by 
millions  down  below,  making  the  water  one  vast  moving 
sea  of  emeralds,  diamonds,  and  precious  gems  ;  but  Walter 
and  Jenny  and  Dolly  no  longer  enjoyed  the  glory  of  the 
scene.  The  gorgeouf,  fSte  was  out  of  tune  with  their  feel- 
ings.    The  music  was  harsh,  the  bells  rung  backwards. 

And  when  they  had  pushed  off  amidst  the  splendid 
crowd,  and  were  already  part  of  the  show  themselves,  with 
the  brilliant  lanterns  which  Walter  had  ordered  Beppo  to 
provi'le,  they  found  that  Philip  was  no  longer  of  their 
party. 

'*  To  the  Telegrapli  Office,  Beppo,"  said  Jenny,  a  very 
prosaic  order  for  so  splendid  an  occasion. 


30O  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

"  The  Telegraph  Office,"  exclaimed  the  gondolier. 

"The  Post,"  she  repeated. 

"  But  not  to  see  the  sights  ?  "  he  asked,  for  the  first  time 
hesitating  to  obey  orders. 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Jenny,  and  with  a  firmness  of  manner 
which  Walter  did  not  care  himself  to  resist. 

"  You  wish  to  send  a  telegram  somewhere  ?  "  Walter 
asked. 

"  Yes,"  said  Jenny. 

"  Take  the  next  turn,  Beppo ;  we  are  close  to  the  office." 

"  Yes,  excellency,"  said  Beppo ;  and  the  gondola  pre- 
sently swept  out  of  the  light  into  the  comparative  dark- 
ness of  a  narrow  waterway,  the  shadows  of  which  were 
now  more  in  harmony  with  the  feelings  of  the  little  English 
party  than  were  the  lamp*s  and  music,  the  flashing  boats, 
and  the  merry  laughter  of  the  Grand  Canal. 


CHAPTER   XL. 

SAM   SWYNFORD   IS    SUMMONED  TO    VENICE. 

The  London  season  had  fairly  commenced  its  course  of 
comedy  and  tragedy,  while  the  Milbankes  and  Philip 
Forsyth  were  in  the  midst  of  their  adventures  in  Italy. 

To  Dick  Chetwynd  and  his  wife,  however,  it  was  but 
the  first  day  of  the  season,  which  to  them  opened  with  the 
Spring  exhibition  at  the  famous  art  club  and  gallery  of 
which  Dick  was  the  moving  spirit.  Bond  Street  was 
crowded  with  carriages  taking  up  and  setting  down  hand- 
somely dressed  visitors  to  Chetwynd's  fashionable  exhibi- 
tion. 

It  was  a  delightful  May  day,  almost  as  bright  and  sunny 
as  Venice.  The  Bond  Street  tradesmen  had  put  out  their 
awnings,  and  filled  their  windows  with  fine  displays  of  art 
and  industry.     Dick  Chetwynd,  in  faultless  summer  cos* 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  301 

tume,  with  a  button  hole  of  lilies  of  the  valley,  assisted  his 
aristocratic  directors  to  receive  the  first  distinguished 
crowd  of  the  season. 

Since  the  winter  exhibition  of  the  **  Rosetti,"  the  quad- 
rangle, previously  used  as  a  carriage  entrance,  had  been 
transformed  into  a  delightful  winter  garden  with  an 
Oriental  fountain,  noble  palm  trees  and  Eastern  exotics, 
amidst  which  the  contributions  of  sculpture  weie  deftly 
and  daintily  arranged  with  pleasant  lounges,  one  pic- 
turesque corner  leading  into  a  pleasant  tea-room. 

Among  the  visitors  was  Sam  Swynford,  who  had  for  the 
day  laid  his  city  business  aside  to  indulge  in  the  first  of 
the  great  Art  functions  of  the  year. 

With  the  defeat  of  Sam's  matrimonial  hopes,  his  finan- 
cial prosperity  had  increased ;  not  simply  day  by  day,  but 
as  it  would  seem  almost  hour  by  hour.  He  had  heard 
nothing  of  the  Milbankes  since  their  departure  for  Italy, 
but  he  had  read  in  that  morning's  paper  an  account  of  the 
f&tes  at  Venice,  and  had  felt,  in  spite  of  himself,  envious 
of  the  happiness  and  good  fortune  of  Philip  Forsyth.  It 
was  to  him  a  matter  of  melancholy  delight  to  meet  Mrs. 
Chetwynd  at  the  "  Rosettis'  "  in  this  bright  London  May 
time,  for  she  at  once  commenced  to  talk  of  Dolly  and  Philip 
and  the  Milbankes. 

Mrs.  Chetwynd  appeared  to  take  no  active  part  in  her 
husband's  work.  While  she  heartily  shared  with  him  his 
artistic  and  occasionally  his  literary  labors,  she  was 
rareiy  in  evidence  as  more  than  an  ordinary  workaday  wife 
busy  with  her  domestic  and  family  affairs.  She  had,  there- 
fore, on  this  occasion  plenty  of  time  to  chat  with  friends 
and  generally  enjoy  the  occasion.  She  knew  Swynford 
to  be  somewhat  of  a  patron  of  the  Arts  to  the  extent  at 
any  rate  of  making  occasional  purchases  ;  she  had  heard 
all  about  his  disappointment  in  regard  to  Dolly  Nor- 
cottj  she  knew  that  be  took  a  deep  interest  in  thie  Mil- 


303  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.      ' 

bankes ;  that  Dick  liked  him ;  and  she  responded  at 
once  sympathetically  to  his  questions. 

"  The  Mil'uankes  seem,"  he  said,  "  to  be  having  a  de- 
lightful time  in  Venice." 

"  Then  you  have  heard  ?  "  replied  Mrs.  Chetwynd. 

"  Oh,  no.  I  don't  know  that  I  expected  to  hear  j  but  I 
have  been  reading  this  morning's  descriptions  of  the 
Venetian  f&tes." 

"Yes;  very  picturesque  and  impressive,  no  doubt," 
said  Mrs.  Chetwynd.  "  Dick  expected  to  have  had  a  line 
or  two  from  Philip ;  but  not  a  word." 

"  When  people  are  [very  happy  they  are  not  given  to 
very  much  letter  writing,  I  expect." 

"  I  should  have  thought  you  would  have  heard  from 
Walter  Milbanke ;  he  is  a  great  friend  of  yours,  is  he 
not?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Swynford,  "  I  like  Walter  very  much ; 
a  good  fellow ;  comes  into  the  city  occasionally  and  does 
a  little  speculation  ;  just  the  same  to  him  whether  he  wins 
or  loses  ;  always  cheerful." 

"  I  suppose,"  replied  Mrs.  Chetwynd,  "  it  is  hardly 
what  may  be  called  etiquette  to  congratulate  you  upon  all 
I  hear  about  your  s  accesses  in  that  mysterious  part  of 
London  you  call  the  city  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  much  of  a  man  for  etiquette,  Mrs.  Chet- 
wynd, and  whatever  you  might  say  to  me  would  only  be 
pleasant,  I'm  sure,  under  any  circumstances.  I  have  been 
very  lucky  lately,  that  is  one  of  the  reasons  why  I  am  here 
to-day.  I  must  ask  your  advice  about  one  or  two  pictures. 
It's  a  dispensation  of  Providence,  no  doubt ;  if  a  man's 
lucky  one  way,  he's  unfortunate  in  another." 

**  But  a  man,"  replied  Mrs.  Chetwynd,  "  has  so  many 
resources,  so  many  various  means  of  consolation."* 

'  You  think  so?  I  suppose  you  are  right.  I  maybe 
the  exception  to  the  rule.  But  there  is  one  kind  of  disap- 
pointment which  a  fellow  never  gets  over," 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  303 

"  Ah,"  said  Mrs.  Chetwynd,  "  a  fellow  thinks  so  for  a 
week  or  two  or  a  month  or  two  ;  but  he  is  easily  consoled 
at  last,  and  comes  to  regard  what  at  one  time  he  would 
call  a  disappointment  as  a  very  fortunate  circumstance." 

"  No,  Mrs.  Chetwynd,  not  a  bit  of  it.  The  only  conso- 
lation he  has  is  in  trying  to  get  all  he  can  out  of  the  proverb 
that  *  While  there's  life  there's  hope.'  Did  you  see  the 
Milbankes  before  they  left  ?  " 

"  Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,"  said  Mrs.  Chetwynd,  "  I 
have  seen  very  little  of  the  Milbankes.  I  have  heard  a 
great  deal  about  Miss  Norcott  and  Mrs.  Milbanke  from 
Dick,  and  of  course  I  have  seen  a  great  deal  of  Philip 
Forsyth." 

"  Yes,"  said  Swynford,  "  very  clever,  interesting  young 
fellow." 

"  You  have  met  him,  then  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Chetwynd. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Swynford.  "  dined  with  him  not  very 
long  ago  at  the  Milbankes'.  Will  you  forgive  me,  Mrs. 
Chetwynd,  for  pressing  my  confidence  upon  you  ?  You 
see  I  am,  as  one  might  put  it,  more  than  usually  a  bachelor 
in  every  sense  of  the  term  ;  no  sisters,  no  mother,  no 
woman-folk,  as  they  say  down  in  Yorkshire,  to  consult. 
You  know  all  about  what  has  happened  to  me,  and  what 
has  happened  to  Miss  Norcott.  Has  it  occurred  to  you 
that  the  engagement  was  rather  hurried  and  probably 
unduly  supported  by  Dolly's  relatives?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Chetwynd,  "  I  really  can't  say  ;  and 
you  need  not  apologize  for  asking  me  the  question.  I  know 
that  Dick  has  always  thought  that  marriage  would  be  a 
good  thing  for  Philip,  and  we  did  not  know  until  the  other 
day  how  much  you  are  reported  to  have  liked  Mrs.  Mil- 
banke's  sister." 

"  We  are  chatting  between  ourselves  now,  are  we  not  ?  ** 
said  Sam,  anxious  to  have  a  confidante.  **  Liked  her  I 
Mrs.  Chetwynd,  I  would  have  given  twenty  years  of  my 


304  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

life  to  be  in  the  position  of  Philip  Forsyth  ;  and  what 
troubles  me  a  good  deal  is  the  feeling  that  it  is  quite  pos- 
sible that  Dolly  Norcott  liked  me  just  as  much  as  the  man 
she  has  become  engaged  to.  I  have  an  idea  that  Waller 
Milbanke  and  his  wife  considered  Philip  Forsyth  a  better 
match  socially  and  in  other  respects  than  myself,  rightly, 
no  doubt ;  he  is  a  clever,  handsome  young  fellow ;  also  an 
artist ;  in  society  and  likely  t  make  a  position  at  the 
West  End.  Dolly  is  passionately  fond  of  her  sister  and 
her  brother-in-law,  rather  easy-going,  kind  hearted  to  a 
fault ;  and  the  more  I  think  of  it — and  I  never  think  of 
anything  else — the  more  I  come  to  the  conclusion  that  if  I 
had  proposed  two  days  before  Forsyth  I  should  have  been 
accepted." 

"  Then,  my  dear  Mr.  Swynford,  why  didn't  you  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Chetwynd  quickly. 

"  I  was  too  fond  of  her,"  said  Swynford.  "  I  told  her 
sister  the  day  after  I  understood  she  was  engaged  to  Phi- 
lip that  if  a  certain  thing  had  occurred  two  or  three  days 
earlier,  I  should  have  spoken  to  her  and  Walter  upon  the 
subject,  and  taken  my  chance  with  Dolly." 

"  May  I  ask  what  your  reason  was  for  delay  ?  " 

"  I  was  too  fond  of  her,"  repeated  Swynford.  "The  day 
after  her  engagement  I  was  a  rich  man  ;  two  days  before  I 
was  only  a  moderately  successful  stockbroker.  Two  days 
afterwards  events  occurred  on  'Change  which  I  been 
hoping  for  and  hardly  daring  to  expect.  I  made  fifty  thou- 
sand pounds  the  day  after  I  lost  Dolly  Norcott." 

"  Hello  ! "  said  Chetwynd,  passing  at  the  moment. 
*'■  How  do  you  do,  Swynford  ?  Agnes,  my  dear,  the  Mar- 
chioness of  Thistledown  is  anxious  to  be  introduced  to  you, 
and  my  chief  director.  Lord  Singleton,  asks  me  to  make 
him  acquainted  with  the  city  gentleman  everybody  is  just 
now  talking  about." 

*'  And  who  may  that  be  ?  "  asked  Swynford. 


\ 

BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  \ 

"Mr.  Samuel  Swynford,"  said  Chetwynd,  patting  him , 
familiarly  upon  the  shoulder.  V 

"  Ah,  we  were  just  talking  about  that  unhappy  person," 
said  Swynford,  "  I  and  your  wife.  I  have  been  giving 
Mrs.  Chetwynd  a  few  points  upon  a  subject  in  which  we 
are  all  interested,  I  more  especially." 

"  You  must  come  and  dine,  Mr.  Swynford,"  said  Agnes, 
"  and  we  will  have  a  long  chat." 

"  Yes,"  said  Dick.     "  When  will  you  come  ?  " 

"  To-morrow  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Chetwynd. 

*'  With  pleasure,"  said  Swynford. 

"  Ah,  here  is  Lord  Singleton,"  said  Dick.  *'  Allow  me 
to  present  Mr.  Samuel  Swynford." 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Swynford  ?  "  said  Lord  Singleton. 
"  Very  glad  to  make  your  acquaintance." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Swynford. 

"  I  want  to  show  you  a  picture  I  have  just  bought,  and, 
if  I  may,  to  have  a  word  on  business.  Rather  unfair  to 
talk  about  money  to  you  outside  the  city,  but  some  people 
who  are  interested  in  a  scheme  you  favor  very  much,  I  am 
told,  have  asked  me  to  become  a  director." 

"  To-morrow,  then,  at  seven,"  said  Dick  Chetwynd, 
nodding  at  Swynford. 

"  With  pleasure,"  said  Swynford.     "  I  shall  be  there." 

And  the  four  gradually  disappeared  among  the  thiong, 
Swynford  congratulating  himself  in  a  melancholy  kind  of 
way  upon  the  friendly  intercourse  he  had  struck  up  with  the 
Chetwynds,  more  particularly  pleased  with  Dick's  amiable, 
sympathetic  and  handsome  wife. 

Lord  Singleton  presently  carried  him  off  to  lunch  at  an 
adjacent  club,  where  Sam  entertained  and  instructed  him  in 
connection  with  certain  investments  which  his  lordship  had 
made.  Lord  Singleton  in  his  turn  gave  Swynford  sundry 
valuable  hints  about  certain  pictures  which  Swynford  in- 
tended to  purchase  ;  not  that  he  had  much  room  for  them 

20 


306  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

at  his  chambers,  but  he  had  recently  resolved  to  buy  a  house 
on  the  Upper  Thames  where  he  could  invite  a  few  friends 
during  the  summer  season,  and  have  a  snug  retreat  for 
high  days  and  holidays  when  he  could  conveniently  leave 
his  business  in  the  city. 

It  was  rather  lite  when  he  returned  home  to  dress  for  a 
little  dinner  engagement  which  he  had  accepted  at  the  Par- 
thenon Club.  Nevertheless,  he  flung  himself  upon  a  couch 
full  of  cushions,  asked  Devereux  for  his  slippers,  and  re- 
quested his  servant  not  to  disturb  him  for  half  an  hour. 

"  You  said  you  would  dress  at  seven,  sir." 

"  Yes,  I  know." 

"  It's  now  half  past." 

"  Can't  help  it,  Devereux.  Am  tired ;  must  have  forty 
winks." 

"  Yes,  sir.     There  are  two  telegrams  for  you." 

"  I  won't  open  them,"  said  Swynford,  "  at  present." 

"Right,  sir." 

"  Come  to  me  in  twenty  minutes." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Swynford  did  not  have  forty  winks.  He  felt  depressed 
and  miserable.  He  couldn't  help  all  day  long  contrasting 
his  position  with  that  of  Philip  Forsyth.  He  couldn't  help 
thinking  at  the  Rosetti  Gallery  how  happy  he  could  be  if 
he  had,  as  a  companion,  with  future  happy  prospects, 
Dolly  Norcott.  He  couldn't  help  thinking  how  generously 
he  could  have  ministered  to  her  tastes  and  foibles,  what 
pictures  they  would  have  bought  together,  what  a  delight- 
ful time  they  would  have  had  in  buying  and  furnishing  that 
house,  for  which  he  had  purchased  those  pictures ;  and 
in  contemplating  himself  he  saw  a  special  and  individual 
example  of  the  impossibility  of  perfect  human  happiness 
arising  from  the  impossibility  of  a  perfect  cultivation  of  the 
virtue  of  contentment. 

Sam  Swynford  possessed  most  of  the  things  that  could 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  yvf 

make  a  young  fellow  happy.  Good  health,  plenty  of 
money,  a  genial  and  generous  disposition,  no  social  or 
political  ambition ;  but  he  wanted  Dolly  Norcott.  Once 
or  twice  during  the  day  he  had  asked  himself  why  he 
should  not  go  to  Italy  ?  He  could  afford  the  time  ;  there 
was  nothing  in  his  business  at  the  moment  that  could  not 
wait  for  him ;  he  had  no  harassing  speculations  ;  the 
money  he  had  recently  made  was  the  result  of  time-bargains 
which  were  over.  Then  he  asked  himself,  supposing  he 
went  to  Italy  what  satisfaction  he  could  possibly  get  out 
of  such  a  trip  ?  He  would  meet  the  Milbankes  and  Dolly, 
of  course ;  but  between  him  and  them  stood  Philip  FoFr 
syth,  successful  and  in  possession. 

Devereux  knocked  at  the  door  and  came  in  while  these 
varied  thoughts  and  emotions  were  passing  in  weary  repe- 
tition through  his  master's  mind. 

"  Ten  minutes  to  eight,  sir." 

"  All  right,  Devereux,  I  am  ready." 

"  Two  telegrams,  sir,"  said  Devereux. 

Swynford  opened  the  first. 

*'  Dinner  will  be  quarter  of  an  hour  later  than  arranged, 
but  happy  to  see  you  as  soon  as  you  like." 

"  That's  lucky,"  said  Swynford  to  his  servant.  "  Needn't 
hurry." 

'*  Yes,  sir,"  said  Devereux,  handing  his  master  the 
second  message,  which  Swynford  read  twice  over  with  an 
emotion  he  could  not  disguise  from  Devereux. 

'*  When  did  this  come  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  his  voice  full  of 
its  customary  energy,  his  manner  alert  and  excited. 

"  At  one  o'clock,  sir." 

"  Good  heavens,  man,"  said  Swynford,  "  why  didn't  you 
let  me  know?  " 

**  I  could  not,  sir,"  Devereux  replied. 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  said  the  master,  striding  rapidly 
across  the  room  and  back  again,  looking  at  himself  in  the 
mirror,  then  at  Devereux,  then  at  the  telegram. 


3o8  £V  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

"  Sorry  to  see  you  so  much  disturbed,  sir.  What  can  I 
do?" 

"  Get  me  Bradshaw,"  said  Swynford. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  The  Continental  Bradshaw,"  said  Swynford. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  servant,  laying  the  book  upon  the 
tabic  before  Swynford,  who  had  now  sat  down  with  calm 
deliberation  at  his  writing  desk. 

"  Telegraph  forms,  Devereux." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Devereux,  handing  the  forms  and  pencil 
to  him  with  military  promptitude. 

Swynford  wrote  : — 

**  Thanks  for  your  telegram;  very  sorry;  am  prevented 
at  last  moment  from  dining  with  you;  will  explain  at 
future  day  ;  my  sincere  regards  and  regrets.*^ 

"  Send  that  at  once  to  the  Parthenon  Club." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Devereux  disappeared ;  rang  his  own  private  bell  for 
his  own  private  servant,  a  boy  in  buttons  as  bright  as  his 
own  eyes,  who  disappeared  with  the  message. 

When  Devereux  returned  Swynford  was  deep  in  the 
study  of  Bradshaw. 

"  Pack  my  foreign  trunk  at  once,  Devereux.  Order  the 
brougham  to  be  at  the  door  at  twenty  minutes  to  nine  to 
the  minute.  Pack  what  you  think  I  shaii  require.  I  am 
going  to  Italy.  Shall  go  straight  through  from  Dover  to 
Milan.     Be  ready  to  accompany  me." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Leave  the  house  keeper  in  charge  here.  Wire  at  once 
to  Atkins  that  my  address  is  Damiano's  Hotel,  Venice  ;  to 
send  on  his  report  and  all  letters  from  the  city  by  first 
mail  to-morrow.  Now  you  have  not  a  moment  to  lose, 
nor  have  I." 

"  All* shall  be  ready  as  you  wish,  sir,  to  the  minute." 


£y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  $09 

"  All  right,  Devereux.  I  will  be  back  in  a  quarter  of  an 
hour." 

Swynford,  now  all  bustle  and  excitement,  took  up  his  hat 
and  cane  and  walked  to  the  nearest  telegraph  office,  re- 
peating to  himself  the  words  of  that  second  telegram  from 
Venice  to  which  he  was  now  formulating  his  answer. 

'*From  Mrs.  Miibanke,  Hotel  Beau  Rivage^  Venice:-^ 
Regard  this  as  private  ;  but  come  to  Venice  immediately  ; 
not  direct  to  this  hotel,  but  to  Damiano's.  J  believe  I  can 
arrange  everything  to  your  satisfaction.  Wire  me  ai 
once,  naming  train  you  leave  by. 

"Jennie  Milbanke." 

To  which  Swynford  answered,  writing  the  message  with 
the  calm  deliberation  which  had  succeeded  his  excitement, 
as  follows : — 

**  Samuel  Swynford  to  Mrs.  Milbanke,  Hotel  Beau 
Rivage,  Venice : — A  thousand  thanks  for  your  welcome 
telegram.  Trying  to  understand  it ;  of  course  with  sel' 
fish  hopes.  Am  leaving  by  the  Paris  mail  to-night. 
Shall  go  through  to  Milan  and  straight  on  to  Venice. 
Wire  me  to  Grand  Hotel,  Milan.  Hope  there  is  no  miS" 
take  about  your  message.    Sincere  regards. 

"  Sam  Swynford." 

The  nearest  telegraph  office  was  at  Burlington  House. 
Sam  had  jostled  several  persons  in  Piccadilly  on  his  way 
to  it.  An  old  gentleman  called  him  a  "  bear."  "  Not 
always,"  said  Sam  to  himself.  "  Sometimes  a  bull,  but 
always  the  right  animal,  fortunately  j  hope  I'm  going  to 
reverse  the  old  proverb  about  luck  in  love ;  though  my  luck 
is  not  at  cards,  they  say  the  Stock  Exchange  is  as  bad  as 
cards.     Am  I  really  going  to  be  lucky  in  love  as  well  ?  " 

All  kinds  of  romantic  hopes  went  rattling  through  his 
brain  as  he  pelted  alon^  to  the  telegraph  office,  he  did  not 


3IO  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

seem  to  have  time  to  call  a  cab,  and  then  the  distance  was 
so  short.  Besides,  he  did  not  want  to  speak  to  anyone 
but  himself.  He  handed  in  his  message,  paid  for  the 
stamps,  stuck  them  upon  the  form  with  the  greatest  care, 
and  waited  until  he  saw  the  despatch  on  the  operator's 
desk. 

At  twenty  minutes  to  nine  to  the  second,  the  brougham 
was  at  the  door.     The  luggage  was  inside  and  out. 

"Too  much  luggage,"  said  Sam  in  an  interrogative 
fashion  and  somewhat  hdgetty. 

"  Think  not,  sir." 

"  I  can  send  for  more  clothes  if  I  want  them." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

*  Will  your  assistant  know  what  to  send  ?  " 

''  Yes,  sir." 

"  Don't  quite  know  what  I'm  going  to  do,  or  how  long  I 
shall  be  away." 

"  Have  arranged  accordingly,  sir." 

"You  have." 

«  Yes,  sir." 

«  That's  all  right.     Don't  want  to  be  bothered." 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Wire  for  cabin  on  board  the  boat." 

«  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  for  special  compartment  from  Calais." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Get  one  at  Charing  Cross  to  Dover  if  you  can." 

«  Yes,  sir." 

Devereux  accomplished  everything  as  Sam  desired.  He 
always  did.  His  silver  and  golden  keys  opened  locks  and 
hearts.  And  Devereux  was  just  as  generous  in  using 
Sam's  money  as  the  master  was  himself. 

The  boat  was  not  crowded.  Sam  found  a  fairly  com- 
fortable cabin.  But  he  paced  the  deck  from  start  to  landing. 
It  was  a  starlight  night.    He  built  castles  up  in  the  clouds. 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  3H 

Not  only  built  them  but  furnished  them.  His  principal 
castle  was  a  pretty  detached  house  at  Kensington.  It  had 
stables,  a  garden,  and  was  decorated  under  the  personal 
direction  of  Dolly  Norcott,  Jenny  and  himself.  They  spent 
most  of  the  spring  months  in  finding  it  and  putting  it  in 
order.  Before  the  season  was  over  they  were  married  at 
St.  George's,  Hanover  Square.  All  this  was  pleasant 
dreaming.  Of  course  the  breakfast  would  take  place  at 
Westbury  Lodge  ;  that  is  if  they  had  a  breakfast.  Proba- 
bly Mrs.  Milbanke  would  prefer  the  new  fashion  of  an 
afternoon  wedding  and  an  evening  reception  ;  or  rather 
was  it  evening  or  afternoon  ;  he  forgot  which  ;  but  it  was 
"  the  swell  thing"  he  thought  now  not  to  have  breakfast. 

The  night  was  very  calm.  Sam  smoked.  So  did  Deve- 
reiix.  The  servant,  however,  kept  clear  of  the  master. 
He  was  one  of  those  perfect  retainers  who  know  exactly 
when  to  be  on  hand  and  when  not.  Devereux  had  not 
read  the  telegram  from  Venice,  but  he  had  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  expedition  was  one  of  a  very  personal 
character.  He  knew  it  was  not  a  business  trip.  He  knew 
it  was  not  one  of  pleasure  apart  from  the  Milbankes.  He 
knew  that  his  master  had  no  real  pleasure  outside  that  par- 
ticular family.  He  knew  his  master  was  in  love  with  Miss 
Norcott.  He  knew  of  the  engagement  of  that  young  lady 
to  his  master's  rival.  He  knew  she  had  gone  to  Italy  with 
her  sister  and  brother-in-law.  He  knew  that  Mr.  Philip 
Forsyth  was  traveling  in  their  company.  All  London 
knew  that  the  rising  young  student  son  of  Lady  Forsyth 
had  gone  to  paint  in  Venice,  and  all  the  section  of  London 
which  read  the  Morning  Post  knew  that  he  was  engaged  to 
Miss  Norcott,  the  daughter  of  the  eminent  and  long  since 
retired  city  merchant,  and  sister-in-law  of  the  wealthy 
young  city  lawyer,  Mr.  Walter  Milbanke.  Therefore,  De- 
vereux was  a  trifled  worried  about  his  master's  trip, 
although  he  had  quietly  said  to  himself  that  he  should  not 


3i«  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

wonder  "  if  Samuel  Swynford,  Esquire,  did  not  come  out 
trumps  in  that  affair  yet." 

It  was  not  Sam's  lot  to  engage  in  any  adventure  on  his 
way  to  Milan.  He  met  no  fascinating  beauty  en  route. 
Had  he  done  so  he  would  have  compared  her  so  much  to 
her  disadvantage  with  Dolly  Norcott  that  she  would  not 
have  stirred  his  imagination  even  into  a  desire  for  a  flirtation. 
Moreover,  he  had  no  mysterious  attachment,  as  Philip  For- 
syth had,  when  that  gallant  had  renewed  his  acquaintance 
with  the  countess  at  Victoria  Station.  Sam  was  as  true  to  his 
ideal  Dolly  as  if  she  had  never  snubbed  him,  as  if  she  had 
never  warned  him  they  could  not  be  any  nearer  than  friends, 
as  if  indeed  she  had  not  been  engaged  to  his  rival.  He  was 
a  curious  mixture,  this  prosperous  young  man  of  business. 
The  secret  of  Sam's  success  on  the  Stock  Exchange  lay  in 
his  never  losing  his  head,  as  his  friends  said.  And  yet, 
contemplating  him  in  the  midst  of  his  city  work,  you  might 
have  doubted  the  truth  of  this  judgment.  Cordiner  said 
of  him : 

"  Sam  Swynford  is  an  enthusiast ;  it  isn't  excitement,  the 
apparent  nervousness  you  thipk  you  detect  in  him  when 
he  is  doing  a  big  thing ;  it  is  the  enthusiasm  of  the  moment, 
that's  what  it  is  j  the  same  kind  of  enthusiasm  that  gives  a 
soldier  the  dash  and  pluck  necessary  in  a  charge  j  the 
impulse,  so  to  speak,  of  the .  j;  ^ent.  But  that  over,  there 
is  no  firmer,  no  more  solid  o\.  jirator  than  Sam  Swynford  j 
a  young  fellow  who  never  wobbles  ;  is  never  doubtful  about 
what  is  the  right  thing  to  do ;  doesn't  ask  advice  ;  is  as 
firm  as  a  rock  and  as  hard  for,the  time ;  though,  mind  you, 
one  of  the  most  generous  fellows  living." 

This  description  of  Sam  was  no  doubt  correct,  and  will 
account  for  the  quiet,  steady,  respectful  way  in  which  Sam 
approached  his  destiny  at  Venice. 

'*  I  can  arrange  everything  to  your  satisfaction,"  he 
repeated  calmly.     "  There  is  only  one  meaning  in  those 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  313 

'  Words.     She  knows  the  only  thing  that  can  satisfy  me.     I 
told  her  I  had  made  a  heap  of  money  ;  I  told  her  why  I 
had  not  proposed  to  Dolly  ;  I  told  her  that  I  would  have 
done  so  if  I  had  been  in   the  position  I  then  was  at  Lady 
Forsyth's  party.     What  is  it  ?     Have  they  quarreled  ?  Has 
Dolly  rebelled  ?     Has  she  discovered  that  she  really  does 
like  me  ?     We  were  always  such  good  friends.  She  treated 
me  as  a  sort  of  tame  cat,  I   must  allow ;  a  kind  of  poor 
relation  ;  a  brother,  say.     But  we  were  great  friends,  and 
she  knew  I  worshipped  her.  Perhaps  Forsyth  thought  she 
would  worship  him.     A  conceited  chap,  Forsyth  ;  like  all 
those  fellows  who  get  their  bread  at  the  West  End  instead 
of  in  the  cUy  ;    like  all  professional  fellows    as  against 
trade  and  commerce  and  even  banking.     If  Dolly  likes  it 
I'll  be  a  banker,  anything  in  fact.     I  have  money  enough 
to  leave  the  city  altogether  if  she  wishes  it.     We  shall  sec. 
Perhaps  it  is  some  trifling  affair  after  all.     Forsyth  may  be 
in  difficulties  ?     Or  Mrs.  Milbanke  may  have  been  specu- 
lating ?  Or  Walter  ?     No,  that  is  too  absurd.     There  has 
been   a  row.     Mrs.   Milbanke  is  a  clever  woman.      She 
knows  exactly  what  I  feel  about  Dolly.     She  is  going  to 
play  me  off  against  the  painter.   Well,  let  her,  I  don't  mind. 
I  have  thought  sometimes  that  Dolly  really  likes  me  as  well 
as   she  likes    Forsyth.     Besides,    she    is    accustomed  to 
my  society.     I   know   what    pleases   her.     Women  may 
pretend    not   to   care   for  all    sorts    of  little  attentions : 
they  may  profess   they   don't   like    too   much    worship. 
I  believe  if  I  did  not  feel  such  a  fool  when  I  am  with  Dolly 
I  should  have  got  on  better.     Why  am  I  such  an  ass  when 
I  am  at  the  Milbankes'  ?     It  is  only  when  Dolly  is  there 
that  I  don't  feel  like  myself.     Self-consciousness,  I  sup- 
pose.    I  don't  suffer  from  that  folly  in  the  city,  nor  at  the 
club." 

At  intervals  along  the  journey  this  is  how  Sam's  thoughts 
rambled  on.     It  would  have  been  very  clear  to  Cordiner, 


314  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

if  he  could  have  had  the  smallest  clue  to  Sam's  feelings 
that  if  he  did  not  lose  his  head  he  had  long  since  lost  hi:t 
heart.     Let  us  hope  that  the  worthy  young  man  of  stocks 
and  shares  and  financial  adventure  may  not  have  lost  it  in 
vain. 

When  he  arrived  at  Milan  he  found  the  following  tele- 
gram awaiting  him : — ^ 

'i  Thanks,  dear  friend — no  mistake— feel  that  you  have 
guessed  my  object  aright,  your  happiness  and  hers. 

"  Jenny  Milbanke." 

Sam  smiled  as  he  read  and  re-read  Jenny's  message.  All 
the  world  seemed  new  to  him.  The  hot$l  could  not  hold 
him.  He  went  out  into  the  city.  He  walked  for  miles. 
He  was  in  no  hurry,  as  it  seemed  to  Sam,  to  go  on.  What 
had  come  over  him  ?  Had  things  gone  wrong  ?  No,  he 
was  convinced  that  everything  was  going  right. 

'*  Pleasant  city  this,  Devereux." 

«  Yes,  sir." 

"  Seen  the  Cathedral?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"See  it." 

«  Yes,  sir." 

"  I  shall  not  go  on  tmtil  the  morning." 

"  Very  well,  sir." 

"  Want  to  arrive  at  Venice  at  night." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  To-morrow  night." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Shall  go  and  sleep  for  an  hour  or  two." 

**  You  look  tired,  sir." 

"  I  am.     First  train  in  the  morning." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Sam  had  not  slept  a  wink  since  he  left  London.  Jenny's 
telegram  had  giveu  him  a  new  spell  of  wakeful  life.     But 


Sy  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  315 

now  that  he  had  built  a  number  of  fresh  castles  in  the  air, 
and  with  every  prospect,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  of  their 
realization,  an  exposition  of  sleep  came  over  him  ;  and  the 
man  who  never  lost  his  head,  according  to  Cordiner  (who 
never  took  the  heart  into  consideration),  went  to  bed,  and 
when  he  awoke  after  eight  hours  he  thought  he  had  not 
ck>sed  his  eyes  for  more  than  a  minute,  though  he  felt  won- 
derfully refreshed. 

Meanwhile  the  last  festal  lamps  were  flickering  out  in 
Venice.  Old  Time,  the  scene-shifter,  was  preparing  for 
further  strange  developments  of  this  present  drama  of  love 
and  vengeance,  of  comedy  incidents  and  tragic  situations. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

EXIT   PHILIP   FORSYTH:    ENTI       SAM   SWYNFORD. 

"  The  sooner  we  leave  Venice  the  better,"  said  Mrs.  Mil- 
banke  to  her  devoted  and  genial  partner.  **  Whether  Mr. 
Forsyth  remains  or  not  is  of  no  moment  to  us  :  we  have 
done  with  Philip  Forsyth  forever,  and  I  think  we  are  well 
out  of  him." 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Walter,  lighting  a  cigar,  and 
looking  contemplatively  across  the  lagoon.  "  I'm  not  sure, 
my  dear." 

"  I  think  I  am." 

*'  It  is  all  very  sudden  and  very  different  from  what  we 
arranged." 

"  It  is,"  said  Jenny,  taking  a  seat  by  his  side  and  casting 
her  eyes  in  the  same  direction,  but  speaking  as  if  she 
were  addressing  an  imaginary  Walter  somewhere  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  Lido." 

They  were  sitting  in  the  open  balcony  under  a  pleasant 
avning,  the  sun  dancing  upon  the  water  beneath  them. 
A  few  decorated  boats  and  gondolas  were  lazily  passing  to 


3i«  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

and  fro,  and  there  was  a  great  air  of  calm  and  repose  in 
the  atmosphere,  which  was  in  pleasant  contrast  with  the 
recent  bustle  and  excitement  of  the  Royal  fites.  The 
King  and  Queen  had  left  amidst  salvoes  of  artillery  and 
braying  of  trumpets,  and  whether  the  Countess  Stravensky 
had  followed  in  their  wake  or  preceded  them,  was  an  open 
question  upon  which  Walter  could  not  satisfy  his  inquiring 
spouse.  The  mysterious  disappearance  of  General  Petrono- 
vitch  was  the  talk  of  Venice,  and  it  was  half  hinted  on  all 
hands  that  he  had  gone  away  to  keep  some  mysterious 
rendezvous  with  the  countess.  His  wife,  the  Princess 
Radna,  still  remained  in  Venice,  but  the  courteous 
manager  of  the  hotel  had  informed  Mrs.  Milbanke  that 
her  Highness  had  given  instructions  to  her  people  for 
their  return  to  Paris  on  the  morrow. 

Walter  and  Jenny  had  discussed  these  incidents  of  fact 
and  gossip  over  breakfast,  but  without  being  moved  by 
them  very  much  either  one  way  or  the  other,  their  im- 
mediate interest  in  life  at  the  moment  being  concentrated 
upon  Dolly  and  Sam  Swynford.  Walter  was  enjoying  his 
after-breakfast  cigar,  and  endeavoring  to  lay  out  his  plans 
for  the  remainder  of  their  Italian  trip. 

"  You  see,"  he  continued,  still  looking  across  the  lagoon 
and  trying  to  blow  a  cloud  of  smoke  after  his  thoughts, 
'*  I  had  made  my  arrangements  for  a  stay  of  at  least  a 
month  here  in  Venice ;  and  indeed  have  taken  these 
rooms  for  that  time." 

"  I  know,"  said  Jenny,  '*  but  Dolly's  plans  were  of  a 
much  more  serious  character  than  that.  She  had  settled, 
not  for  a  month,  but  for  life." 

"  And  her  scheme  still  holds  good,"  said  Walter,  smiling, 
"  only  she  has  changed  her  traveling  companion." 

"  Well,  and  so  have  we,"  said  Jenny,  endeavoring  to 
drop  into  Walter's  semi-philosophic  vein ;  "  only  that  our 
trip  is  a  summer  holiday."  m 

"  You  think  she  loves  Swynford  ?  " 


BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  317 

"I'm  sure  she  does,"  said  Jenny,  "  and  has  loved  him 
all  the  time,  even  when  she  accepted  Mr.  Philip  Forsyth." 

"Then  why  did  she  accept  him?"  asked  Walter. 

"Now,  my  dear,"  said  Jenny,  with  the  faintest  suspicion 
of  irritability,  "don't  let  us  go  over  that  again.  I  ati 
quite  willing  to  assume  my  share  of  the  blame  of  it,  all 
the  blame,  if  necessary ;  but  I  thought  we  had  concluded 
our  little  controversy  on  that  point  last  night.  I'm  sure 
I  never  slept  a  wink,  what  with  your  reiteration  of  the 
salient  points,  as  you  called  them,  and  my  thinking  of 
them  over  and  over  again,  afterwards.  For  heaven's  sake 
let  us  say  no  more  about  responsibilities.  Blame  me,  if 
you  like,  entirely." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Walter,  taking  her  hand  affectionately, 
still  gazing  out  across  the  lagoon,  "we  are  both  to  blame." 

"  Very  well,  then,"  replied  Jenny,  "  there  is  an  end  of  it. 
We  have  done  the  right  thing  xx.  last." 

"  You  really  think  so  ?  "  faid  Walter. 

"  I  am  sure  so,"  she  replied.  "  Mr.  Philip  Forsyth 
thought  more  of  his  art  than  of  Dolly,  and  finally  more  of 
that  intriguing  countess  than  of  either  his  art  or  Dolly.** 

"  Has  the  countess  really  left  Venice  ?  "  asked  Walter. 

"  No  doubt  of  it,'  Jenny  replied ;  "  and  Philip  has  not 
been  seen  in  this  hotel  for  the  last  two  days." 

"  You  know  that  his  luggage  is  still  here,"  said  Walter. 

"  Part  of  it — part  of  it,"  said  Jenny,  with  some  irritation. 
"  It  seems  he  took  away  his  large  portmanteau,  and  I  am 
quite  sure  the  porter  has  some  secret  understanding'  about 
forwarding  the  rest  after  him." 

"  It  is  all  very  strange,"  said  Walter.  "  If  he  had  said 
*  good-bye  ' — left  a  note — sent  a  telegram — done  anything 
that  we  might  have  acted  upon,  our  position  would  have 
been  so  much  more  satisfactory." 

"  His  conduct, "  said  Jenny,  "  is  all  the  more  scandalous. 
It  is  evident  to  me  that  there  was  a  rivalry  between  thiq 


3i8  By  ORDER  OF  THE   CZAR. 

wretched  General  Petronovitch  and  Philip,  a  rivalry  which 
we  shall  hear  more  of.  The  Princess  Radna,  I  am  told, 
intends  to  obtain  a  divorce  ;  she  will  lay  her  case  before 
the  Czar  himself." 

'*  Does  it  strike  you  at  all,"  asked  Walter,  for  the  first  time 
turning  towards  his  wife  and  neglecting  his  cigarette,  **  that 
this  General  Petronovitch  may  have  met  with  foul  play?" 

"No;  why  should  it?  This  is  not  ancient  Venice. 
What  foul  play  could  possibly  happen  to  him,  except  the 
foul  play  that  is  evidently  part  of  his  character ;  the  foul 
play  of  a  reprobate  ?  " 

"  And  Philip  ?  "  continued  Walter,  interrogatively ;  "you 
are  quite  satisfied  in  your  own  mind  that  he  is  under  no 
restraint,  that  he  left  us  voluntarily,  and  is  away  for  Iiis 
own  wicked  purposes  ?  " 

"  I  only  know,"  Jenny  replied,  "  that  his  conduct  at 
the  countess'  reception  was  shameful ;  that  his  manner 
towards  the  hostess  was  that  of  a  weak  fool  under  the 
fascinations  of  a  designing  woman ;  that  his  W!thdrawal 
from  our  society  the  next  day,  and  his  appearance  with 
the  Countess  Stravensky  in  her  ostentatious  gondola, 
are  a  sufficient  justification  of  what  we  have  thought 
desirable  in  the  interest  of  Dolly." 

"■  But  you  didn't  see  him,  my  dear,  in  the  gondola." 

"Beppodid,"  she  replied,  "and  Beppo  saw  the  boat 
turn  into  the  little  canal,  which  has  a  side  entrance  into 
the  palace  where  she  gave  her  very  mixed  and  Bohemian 
reception." 

"  You  thought  differently  of  the  reception,  my  dear,  when 
she  invited  us,  and  were  tremendojjsly  impressed  with  it 
until " 

"  Philip  made  a  fool  of  himself,"  exclaimed  Jenny, 
interrupting  her  argumentative  lord  ;  "  and  if\iy  you  will 
go  on  repeating  all  this,  and  come  back  lo  it  as  if  we  were 
discussing  it  now  for  the  first  time,  and  had  not  sat  up 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  3I9 

half  the  night  similarly  engaged,  I  cannot,  for  the  life  of 
me,  understand.  Philip  deserted  us,  and  practically  threw 
over  Dolly ;  we  shall  not  admit  this  outside  our  own  little 
family  circle,  but  that  is  the  fact.  Dolly  was  shamefully 
jilted.  We  only  say  that,  1  repeat,  to  ourselves.  Sam 
Swynford  comes  upon  the  scene  ;  proposes  for  Dolly,  as 
he  had  intended  to  do  some  weeks  ago ;  is  accepted ; 
Dolly  is  happy;  Swynford  is  a  good  fellow,  and  he  is 
happy;  and  what  in  heaven  is  the  matter  with  you, 
Walter?" 

'*  How  came  Swynford  here  at  all  ?  It  is  that  which 
puzzles  me,"  said  Walter.  **  If  you  had  been  perfectly 
frank  with  me,  I  don't  suppose  we  should  have  had  these 
discussions.     You  are  keeping  something  back." 

Again  he  turned  his  face  interrogatively  upon  Jenny. 
She  pressed  his  hand  and  rose  to  her  feet. 

'*  You  are  always  in  such  a  hurry,  Walter.  I  should 
have  told  you  all  in  good  time ;  jind  I  am  sure  you  will 
forgive  me  now  if  you  compel  me  to  confess  before  I 
meant  to.  The  telegram  I  sent  to  my  dressmaker  was 
not  to  my  dressmaker  at  all ;  it  was  a  private  message  to 
Sam  Swynford,  inspired  thereto  by  our  conversation  at 
Lady  Forsytii's,  and  suggested  to  him  that  he  should  come 
to  Venice." 

'*  I  thought  so,"  said  Walter. 

"  If  you  thought  so,  why  didn't  you  say  so  ;  it  would 
have  spared  us  so  much  irritation." 

*'  I  am  not  irritated,"  said  Walter,  "  and  you  know  I 
would  spare  your  feeli'igs  in  every  possible  way;  your 
subterfuge  about  the  dressmaker  was  unworthy;  and  it 
was  unkind  also  to  keep  me  in  the  dark." 

"  I  feel  it  was,  dear  ;  I  know  \\  was.  I  confes6  it.  I 
apologize ;  my  only  excuse  is  that  Dolly  was  with  us  when 
I  told  the  little  fib  about  the  message ;  I  could  not,  of 
course,  take  her  into  my  confidence ;  as  for  you,  dear,  I 
huml^ly  ask  your  forgiveness." 


320  By  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

She  flung  her  arms  round  her  lawful  critic,  deposited 
her  head  upon  his  shoulder,  and  Walter  gave  her  what  he 
considered  to  be  a  triumphant  kiss. 

''Now  then,"  he  said  cheerfully,  "that's  all  right.  I 
forgive  you ;  we  understand  each  other.  I  have  no  doubt 
you  did  the  right  thing ;  I  have  no  doubt  Dolly  has  done 
the  right  thing ;  I  am  sure  Sam  Swynford  has ;  and  I  am 
quite  sure  that  Philip  Forsyth  has  behaved  shamefully." 

"  Walter,  you  are  a  darling  ! "  exclaimed  his  wife,  re- 
turning his  kiss.     '*  And  now,  what  are  your  plans  ?  " 

"To  get  out  of  Venice  at  once  as  you  proposed,"  said 
Walter ;  and,  as  he  said  so,  they  both,  by  mutual  impulse, 
left  the  balcony  as  if  to  pack  ;  but  they  were  both  attracted 
by  the  entrance  of  the  manager  of  the  hotel. 

"  A  letter,"  he  said,  "  very  urgent,  for  Mr.  Milbanke." 

Walter  opened  it.  It  was  from  Philip  Forsyth— only  a 
JEW  lines  : — 

"  Forgire  me.  Accept  my  abject  regrets  and  apologies.  Dolly 
will  easily  forgive  me.  I  am  utterly  unworthy  of  her  and  of  your 
friendship.  Tell  her  so.  We  shall  probably  never  meet  again.  I 
have  left  Venice'  on  a  long  journey.  My  conduct  on  the  night  of  the 
Countess  Stravensky's  reception  may  explain  my  change  of  plans  and 
life.  I  feel  it  due  to  you  to  say  this.  No  one  need  be  alarmed  as  to 
my  safety.  I  have  written  to  my  mother.  If  ever  you  and  yours  think 
of  me  again,  remember  me  when  most  I  seemed  entitled  to  your  respect 
and  esteem. 

"Philip  Forsyth." 

*'  Thank  you,"  said  Walter,  turning  to  the  manager. 
'*  There  is  no  answer.'' 

'•  The  messenger  did  not  wait,"  said  the  manager. 

"  You  have  instructions  to  forward  on  the  remainder  of 
V^x.  Forsyth's  baggage  ?  " 

'*  Yes,  sir,  it  goes  to  Paris." 

'<  I  am  sorry,"  said  Walter,  "  to  tell  you  that  this  has 
l)roken  up  our  little  party.  We  shall  leave  to-morrow  for 
t}ie  l^kes  £^n4  Switzerland ;  but  we  are  very  muc^  In- 


BY  ORDER  OF  TIIL  CZAR.  32 R 

debted  to  you  for  your  kindness  and  attention.  We  shall 
pay  for  your  rooms  until  the  end  of  the  term  for  which  I 
engaged  them,  and  we  shall  hope  to  return  next  spring 
for  a  long  stay  in  Venice.  Any  loss  that  you  may  have 
sustained  by  our  monopoly  of  the  hotel  during  the  f&tes  I 
shall  discharge  with  pleasure." 

"  Monsieur  is  most  generous,"  said  the  manager.  "  I 
hold  myself  at  your  command."  Wiih  which  the  cour- 
ijous  host  withdrew,  and  Walter  and  his  wife  returned  to 
the  subject  in  hand. 

'•  That  letter,  my  dear,"  said  Jenny,  "  is  our  justifi- 
cation." 

•'  Yes,"  said  Walter,  *•  it  relieves  my  mind  very  con- 
siderably. I  should  have  felt  troubled  about  leaving 
Venice  without  having  something  definite  from  Forsyth. 
Now  all  we  have  to  do  is  to  try  and  forget  the  disagree- 
able part  of  our  journey,  to  look  upon  what  has  happened 
as  all  for  the  best,  and  continue  our  holiday  in  a  cheerful 

spirit." 

**  We  never,  my  dear  Walter,  were  more  unanimous 
upon  any  subject.     Where  do  you  propose  to  go  ?  " 

"  I  think  we  might  spend  a  few  days  at  Verona,  a  week 
or  two  at  Belaggio,  and  then  travel  quietly  through 
Switzerland  and  home  by  Paris." 

"  Delightful,"  said  Jenny,  as  Dolly  and  Sam  Swynford 
entered  the  room.  "  Don't  you  think  so  ?  "  she  said, 
addressing  Dolly  and  her  new  fianc6. 

«♦  The  morning,"  said  Dolly,  '  **  or  what  ?  Venice  is 
certainly  lovely.  Sam  has  given  me  an  ice  at  Florian's, 
and  I  have  been  feeding  the  pigeons." 

"  For  sixty  seconds,"  said  Sam,  cheerily,  **  I  was  afraid 
tho  pigeons  were  going  to  feed  on  Dolly.  She  was 
literally  in  a  cloud  of  feathers.     I  had  positively  to  rescue 


81 


3aa  BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

"Not  the  first  rescue,"  said  Dolly,  with  a  ^^nk, 
afTectionate  expression  in  her  dancing  eyes  that  compre- 
hended the  whole  group. 

"  Your  sister,"  said  Sam,  "  is  a  trifle  mysterious  or 
mischievous — don't  know  which ;  both,  perhaps.  She  has 
been  saying  that  all  the  way  here,  and  yet  I'm  sure  the 
ice  was  harmless  enough.  If  it  had  been  punch  a  la 
Romaine — well,  there,  I'll  say  no  more  about  it,  except 
between  our  four  selves  that  this  is  the  happiest  moment 
of  my  life." 

**  There  !  "  said  Dolly,  "  and  you've  said  that  before." 

"  And  on  many  occasions,"  said  Jenny,  merrily.  "  Wal- 
ter always  says  it  when  he  makes  a  speech." 

"  Come  to  think  of  it,"  said  Sam,  "  you  are  possibly 
right.  Don't  remember  that  I  ever  made  more  than  two 
or  three  speeches  in  my  life,  and  I  believe  I  have  always 
rung  in  that  convenient  expression.  But  I  hope  that 
doesn't  take  away  from  its  point  to-day.  If  I  had  wings 
like  those  pigeons,  I  think  I  should  just  soar  right  up  into 
that  blue  sky  and  come  tumbling  down  again  in  very  fun, 
just  as  one  of  the  fluffiest  of  them  did  after  he  made  the 
acquaintance  of  Dolly." 

•*  I  daresay,"  said  Walter.     "  Have  a  cigar  ?  " 

"  I'll  have  anything  you  like,  my  dear  boy." 

"  Dolly,"  said  Walter,  as  she  stood  there  beaming  upon 
him,  "  sit  down,  and  don't  look  so  miserable.  If  you 
have  any  little  purchases  to  make,  take  a  little  rest  and  go 
out  and  make  them;  we' leave  Venice  to-morrow." 

*'  Leave  Venice ! "  exclaimed  Swynford,  looking  at 
Dolly. 

"  Leave  Venice  ! "  said  Dolly,  looking  at  Jenny. 

"  We  are  tired  of  Venice,"  said  Jenny.  "  But  we  are 
not  going  home ;  don't  be  afraid.  What  do  you  say  to 
the  Lake  of  Corao,  Sam  ?  " 

"  The  Lake  of  Como,"  replied  Swynford,  "  where  the 
marble  palace  lifts  its  something  to  eternal  summer  an4 


BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  383 

blushes  forth  in  the  midst  of  roses,  or  what  is  it?  I'm 
not  good  at  poetical  quotation." 

"Quite  good  enough,"  said  Walter.  "That's  the 
place." 

"  And  a  little  cottage  in  a  shabby  village  when  we  get 
there  ?  "  said  Swynford. 

"  By  no  means,"  said  Walter. 

*  It  was  so  in  the  play,  you  know,"  said  Swynford, 
turning  to  Dolly. 

"  This  is  not  a  play,"  rejoined  Walter,  "  and  we  don't 
want  any  of  your  comedy  dialogue,  Sam  \  only  a  little  of 
your  common  sense." 

"  All  right,"  said  Sam.  "  Proceed  ;  all  my  common  sense 
is  at  your  disposal.  Not  got  much  of  it,  but  such  as  it  is 
and  all  I  have  pray  command  me." 

"  Do  you  projiose  to  give  us  the  pleasure  of  your 
company  ?  "  asked  Walter. 

"  I  propose  to  give  myself  the  pleasure  of  your  com- 
pany." 

"  For  how  long  ?  "  asked  Walter. 

"  Until  you're  tired  of  me ;  and  as  regards  Dolly,  even 
a  little  longer." 

"You  talked  this  morning  of  sending  to  London  for 
some  luggage." 

"I  have  sent  for  my  Sunday  clothes,"  said  Sam, 
laughing. 

"  To  this  address  ?  " 

"  To  the  Hotel  Mihino." 

"  Do  you  think  they  are  on  their  way  by  this  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so." 

"  Very  well,  then ;  you  can  give  instructions  at  the 
Hotel  Milano  to  have  them  sent  on  to  the  Hotel  Bel- 
aggio." 

"  Consider  it  done,  my  dear  Walter,"  said  Sam. 

"  I  am  going  up  to  the  station  now,"  said  Walter  "  to 
furrange  for  a  saloon  carriage  to  Verona." 


3*4 


BV  ORDER  OP  THE  CZAR. 


"  Will  Dolly  come,"  said  Swynford.  "  and  Mrs.  Mil- 
banke?" 

"  They  had  better  rest  a  little/'  said  Walter.  "  We  will 
come  back,  and  I  propose  that  later  we  spend  an  hour  in 
St.  Mark's.  There  are  some  little  things  Jenny  would  like 
to  buy,  and  then  we  will  go  over  to  the  Lido  and  dine." 

"You  had  better  place  yourself  entirely  in  Walter's 
hands,"  said  Jenny  to  Sam. 

"  Most  happy,"  said  Sam.  "  Walter*  give  the  word ;  I 
am  with  you." 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

MODERN  LOVERS  IN  ANCIENT  VERONA. 

There  is  probably  no  more  interesting  city  in  all  Italy 
than  Verona,  where  Shakespeare's  **  Two  Gentlemeii " 
took  their  walks  abroad,  and  Romeo  and  Juliet  lived, 
loved  and  died.  Whether  the  tomb  they  show  you  is 
Juliet's  or  not,  the  town  is  that  of  the  Capulets  and  the 
Montagues,  and  the  air  pulsates  with  romantic  possibili- 
ties. 

To  begin  with,  the  place  is  delightfully  situated  on  a 
rapid  river  ;  it  is  within  the  mighty  shadows  of  the  Alps  ; 
it  has  a  Roman  amphitheatre,  more  complete  and  beautiful 
than  the  Colosseum  at  Rome ;  it  is  a  city  of  palaces  and 
balconies^  of  frescoed  houses,  and  narrow,  picturesque 

streets. 
Standing  in  the  Piazza  del  Signori,  you  feel  that  not 

only  is  that  story  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  possible,  but  true. 

At  night,  meeting  there  two  or  three  groups   of  noisy 

young  citizens  coming  home  from  some  local  festival,  you 

may  feel  assured   they  will  bite   their  thumbs   at  each 

Other* 


BY  ORDER  OF  TitE  CZAR,  3J5 

_  • 

English  travelers  bound  to  Milan,  on  the  one  hand, 
or  to  Venice  on  the  other,  rarely  make  Verona  more 
than  a  resting-place  for  the  night ;  but  it  is  well  worth  the 
sojourn  c*"  a  week.  Your  hotel  is  one  of  the  fine  old 
Scaligeri  palaces. 

It  was  the  Saturday  market  on  one  of  the  days  of  the 
Milbankes*  stay  there,  and  they  found  the  courtyard  of 
the  Palace  of  the  Capulets  full  of  market  carts  and 
tethered  horses  ;  the  adjacent  and  surrounding  buildings 
evidently  humble  lodging-houses,  but  even  these  had 
balconies,  and  were  artistic  in  decay. 

"  Murray "  says  there  are  more  bajconies  in  Verona 
than  in  any  other  city  of  Italy.  Walter  was  very  happy  in 
his  pleasant  allusions  to  modern  Romeos  and  Juliets,  and 
to  those  who  flirted  in  the  balconies  of  old.  Sam  was 
delighted  at  any  reference  to  his  engagement  with  Dolly, 
who  had  some  little  difficulty  now  and  then  in  restraining 
what  Jenny  had  informed  her  was  a  too  jubilant  view  of 
her  position. 

**  The  fact  is,  my  dear,"  said  Dolly  to  Jenny,  "  I  feel  as 
if  I  had  had  an  awful  escape.  If  I  had  been  rescued 
from  a  fire  or  shipwreck,  and  had  got  well  over  it ;  or,  to 
be  more  prosaic,  had  been  very  ill  in  crossing  from  Calais 
to  Dover,  had  quite  recovered,  and  had  a  good  dinner,  I 
couldn't  have  felt  more  contented  than  I  do  now." 

"  But  y<^u  mustn't  let  Sam  see  it." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  Dolly.  '*  He  is  under  the  impres- 
sion that  I  gave  up  Philip,  not  Philip  me,  and  I  really 
don't  care  whether  he  knows  the  entire  truth  or  not.  I 
have  told  him  I  am  very  happy,  that  even  when  I  seemed 
to  hold  him  at  a  distance  I  always  loved  him.  You 
know,  dear,  you  gave  me  a  lot  of  advice  about  Philip. 
Don't  you  think  it  would  be  just  as  well  to  let  me  alone 
now  to  go  my  own  way  ?  " 

"  Well,  perhaps — perhaps,"  said  Jenny.  *'  I  own  I  was 
not  very  wise  about  the  Forsyth  business.     But  what  'x& 


326  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

this  ?     Why,  tliis  is  the  market-place.     Waller,  is  not  this 
tlie  market-place  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear,"  said  Walter.  "  Don't  you  remember  we 
saw  a  picture  of  it  in  the  Walker  Gallery  at  Man- 
chester?" 

"  No,"  said  Jenny,  "  I  never  saw  a  picture  half  so 
beautiful  anywhere."  And  the  present  chronicler  is  al- 
most inclined  to  agree  with  this  admiring  exclamation. 

Imagine  the  market-place  at  Nottingham  or  Yarmouth, 
the  houses  tall,  some  frescoed,  one  a  palace,  all  with 
balconies ;  at  the  north  end  a  pillar  bearing  aloft  the 
marble  effigy  of  the  lien  of  St.  Mark ;  on  the  south  a 
temple  ;  in  the  centre  an  ancient  fountain  with  a  statue  of 
the  Virgin.  Abe  this  imagine  a  blue,  far-away  sky  ; 
and  on  the  floor  of  the  market  numbeVless  stalls,  pro- 
tected by  great  white  umbrellas  ;  at  the  base  of.St.  Mark's 
pillar  a  group  of  Italian  men  and  women  from  the 
country,  looking  exactly  like  a  peasant  chorus  out  of  a 
grand  opera,  so  much  so  that  you  expect  them  every  now 
and  then  to  burst  forth  into  song.  Then  imagine  the 
market  itself  full  of  vegetables  and  flowers,  and  cattle  and 
poultry,  mostly  presided  over  by  Italian  women,  with 
handkerchiefs  about  their  heads  (and  occasionally  a  man- 
tilla) not  unlike  the  head-dress  of  Manchester  factory 
girls  ;  and  all  round  the  market  busy  shops  ;  whenever  you 
get  a  peep  out  of  the  square  down  some-  side  street  you 
catch  glimpses  of  the  facades,  ancient  palaces  or  narrow- 
gabled  thoroughfares.  Add  to  all  this  Italian  soldiers, 
policemen  (in  tall  hats,  with  silver-tipped  walking-sticVs), 
priests  in  solemn  costume,  wrinkled  old  men  with  eq  lally 
wrinkled  umbrellas,  blue-eyed  Italian  girls,  and  stately 
housewives  marketing.  If  you  can  put  all  this  together 
in  any  kind  of  shape  you  may  form  some  idea  of  the 
Verona  market. 

Among  the  cries  of  the  miscellaneous  venaors  of  goods 
and  hawkers  of  minor  articles  of  trade,  "  qualro  chinka, 


Sy  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  307 

chinka,  chinka,"  "  stivola,"  **  poUastro,"  seemed  continu- 
ally in  oral  evidence,  the  "  chinka,  chinka,"  of  an  old 
lady  (like  the  grandmother  of  one  ofOuida's  peasant  hero- 
ines, of  a  strange  and  an  antique  mould)  rising  calmly 
above  the  rest.  She  sold  four  and  five  pieces  of  fish  for  a 
penny.  Her  competitors  dealt  in  boots  and  shoes,  chickens, 
che-jse,  crockery,  flowers — what  indeed,  did  they  not 
sell? 

And  this  fine  old  market  of  white  umbrellas,  with  the 
sun  playing  all  kinds  of  fantastic  tricks  with  its  various 
wares,  was  the  Forum  in  olden  days.  The  building  we 
spoke  of  as  a  Temple  we  find  was  the  Tribune,  "  to  which 
the  newly-elected-Capitano  del  Popolo  of  the  Free  City, 
after  having  heard  Mass  at  the  Cathedral,  was  conducted, 
and  in  which,  after  he  had  addressed  the  people,  he  was 
invested  with  the  insignia  of  office."  In  after  times  the 
sentences  of  condemned  criminals  were  pronounced  from 
this  Tribune.  Proclamations  were  made  from  it,  and  debt- 
ors were  here  compelled  to  submit  to  a  humiliating  punish- 
ment. In  all  bright  scenes,  however  sunny,  the  shadow 
always  comes. 

As  they  left  the  market,  they  met  the  prison  van  on  its 
way  to  the  local  Newgate  j  but  even  this  conveyance  had 
a  gay  appearance.  The  officers  in  charge,  in  new  cocked 
hats  and  bright  swords,  were  chatting  with  the  driver,  a 
peasant,  who  was  calmly  smoking  a  cigarette.  Beggary 
does  not  excite  your  sympathy  as  it  does  in  London.  The 
Italian  mendicant  is  dirty,  perhaps  ;  unaffectedly  lazy,  but 
he  looks  warnci  in  his  rags.  There  is  a  terrible  reality 
about  most  of  the  London  beggars  ;  and  the  professionals, 
whom  Mr.  Ribton-Turner,  in  his  book  on  Vagrancy,  has 
immortalized,  can  "  assume  a  wretchedness  "  so  keenly 
that  they  compel  your  pity.  Nevertheless  no  Verona  beg- 
gar made  an  unavailing  appeal  to  Sam  Swynford  during  this 
happy  time  at  Verona ;  and,  full  of  his  romantic  success 


328  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

with  Dolly  and  the  realization  of  his  dearest  hopes,  the 
poetic  city  now  and  then  seemed  to  stimulate  Sam  into 
unexpected  flashes  of  intellectuality. 

On  the  last  night  of  their  visit  to  Verona,  the  Milbanke 
party  were  favored  with  special  permission  to  visit,  by 
moonlight,  the  arena  where  the  Christian  martyrs  were 
driven  from  their  prisons  out  among  the  wild  beasts,  to 
audiences  of  captains,  senators,  ladies,  priests,  and  the  po- 
pulace. He  would  have  been  indeed  insensible  to  poetry 
or  human  sympathy  who  could  have  seen  the  moonbeams 
falling  upon  the  marble  seats  and  the  broken  arches  without 
a  pitying  sigh  for  the  past,  and  a  grateful  reflection  upon 
the  privileges  of  liberty  and  toleration  in  the  present.  Sam 
Swynford  felt  as  they  wandered  through  the  great  solemn 
place,  a  strong  inspiration  of  protection  towards  Dolly, 
which  she  reciprocated  in  a  more  or  less  comfortable  nestle 
under  the  wing,  or  to  put  it  without  metaphor,  under  the 
strong  arm  of  her  prosperous  young  London  lover. 

When  they  were  most  inclined  to  linger  over  sentimen- 
tal reflections  about  the  scenes  in  the  arena,  Walter  Mil- 
banke was  busy  with  thoughts  of  his  final  show,  which  was 
the  Tomb  of  Juliet  in  the  moonlight.  "  Not,"  he  said,  as 
he  led  the  way  with  the  guide  to  the  carriage  which  awaited 
them  at  the  entrance  of  the  Colosseum,  "Juliet's  Tomb 
as  ordinary  visitors  see  it,  but  all  to  ourselves  with  this 
gloricus  moon." 

Driving  through  the  pleasant  streets,  and  saluted  here 
and  there  by  the  music  of  evidently  social  evenings  which 
gave  occasional  light  and  merriment  to  sundry  houses  en 
route,  they  presently  came  to  a  quieter  part  of  Verona, 
lighted  only  by  the  great  white  moon.  They  approached 
the  pleasant  corner  selected  for  Juliet's  apocryphal  tomb 
through  an  old-fashioned  garden,  with  patches  of  green 
turf  and  blooming  gilliflowers,  rows  of  peas  in  blossom 
that  rivalled  the  white  Marguerite  daisies  in  the  moonlight 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  329 

and  a  rich  perfume  f)  n  beans  in  flower  and  the  scent  of 
naaiiy  herbs.  It  was  mixed  garden  of  the  English  kind; 
that  seemed  unconsciously  to  lend  itself  to  the  Juliet  illu- 
sion of  the  English  poet.  Even  Walter  was  subdued  by 
its  unostentatious  beauty,  and  the  little  party  followed  the 
old  lady  who  opened  the  garden  gate  upon  the  narrow  way 
that  led  to  the  great  stone  coffin  which,  as  a  matter  of  sen- 
timent and  imagination,  the  world  is  willing  to  accept  as 
r^clic  of  the  Shakespearean  story. 

It  was  somewhat  out  of  keeping  with  the  romance  of  the 
scene  to  find  the  great  stone  sarcophagus  half-full  of  visit- 
ing cards,  the  prosaic  character  of  which  was  not  quite 
redeemed  by  the  one  or  two  faded  wreaths  that  hung  about 
the  tomb.  But  it  was  all,  nevertheless,  very  lovely  and  im- 
pressive in  the  moonlight  and  without  the  presence  of 
other  sightseers;  and  the  Miibankes,  with  their  newly- 
engaged  companions,  drove  to  their  hotel,  being  generally 
more  or  less  under  the  impression  that  they  possessed  a 
far  higher  and  poetic  appreciation  of  the  beautiful  than 
any  of  them  had  imagined. 

That  same  silvery  moon,  however — which  seemed  to 
look  down  with  special  approval  upon  Verona — cast  only 
fitful  and  furtive  beams  upon  a  weird  ghost-like  figure  that 
appeared  to  a  party  of  Venetian  fishermen  sailing  their 
picturesque  vessel  through  the  water-gateway  of  the  Adri- 
atic into  the  shimmering  lagoons  of  the  City-in-the-Sea. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

THE   GHOST   OF   THE   LAGOONS. 

Thev  were  a  fishing  trio  of  the  lagoons,  Chiozotti,  in  fact, 
well  known  for  their  industry  and  their  piety.  They  had 
been  beating  about  most  of  the  night  without  hauling  in 
anything  worth  mentioning,  until  it  was  nearly  morning, 


330  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

and  then  naving  called  down  a  blessing  from  the  saint 
whom  their  brown  illuminated  sail  glorified,  their  net  had 
filled  to  overflowing.  They  emptied  it  with  much  rejoicing 
upon  their  reeking  deck,  and  then  spread  their  canvas  to 
catch  the  morning  breeze  for  Venice. 

It  wanted  yet  an  hour  or  so  to  dawn,  the  first  opaline 
advances  of  which  began  to  move  the  curtains  of  the  East- 
ern sky.  Only  a  handful  of  pale  stars  remained  in  the 
heavens.  The  sea  had  been  rough  on  the  previous  nigm, 
and  a  strong  under  swell  was  left  in  memory  of  the  passing 
storm.  The  picturesque  smack  rose  and  fell  with  a  regu- 
lar cadenza  of  motion. 

While  one  of  the  men  steered  and  attended  to  the  navi- 
gation, the  other  two  were  busy  getting  their  fish  into  the 
hold,  singing  all  the  while  a  kind  of  answering  chorus  to 
the  chant  of  the  steersman. 

Presently  the  soloist  paused  in  his  song  to  gaze  intently 
to  windward  where  he  fancied  he  saw  something  in  the 
water.  It  was  not  a  boat,  nor  was  it  a  fish.  It  might  be 
a  piece  of  floating  wreckage.  But  it  looked  strangely  like 
some  awful  vision  of  the  deep.  The  helmsman  said  nothing, 
but  crossed  himself  devoutly  and  looked  in  another  direc- 
tion. 

The  opaline  glow  that  had  at  first  been  very  faint  now 
gave  place  to  streaks  of  pink  and  grey  and  red ;  it  looked 
like  a  stormy  breaking  of  the  morning. 

There  was  an  unusual  shadow,  too,  upon  the  sea,  the 
steersman  thought.  He  feared  to  look  to  windward,  though 
he  tried  to  smother  a  superstitious  dread  that  came  over 
him  in  a  repetition  of  his  fisherman's  chant,  and  again  his 
mates  took  up  the  refrain.  He  no  longer  saw  the  strange 
weird  something  in  the  sea;  it  was  still  there,  nevertheless, 
rising  and  falling  with  the  swelling  waves.  Once  in  a  way 
the  first  beams  of  the  morning  fell  upon  it  as  if  with  inqui- 
sitive glances.    Then  the  shadowy  forms  of  the  Euganean 


BY  ORDER  Of  THE  CZ/tR.  331 

hills  began  to  assert  their  presence  far  away  beyond  the 
mainland.  Further  North  the  cold  white  Alps  were  get- 
ting ready  to  make  their  appearance  on  the  distant  back- 
ground of  the  hazy  picture.  By  and  bye  the  islands  of  the 
lagoons  would  put  in  their  claims  to  recognition,  but  for 
the  moment  there  was  only  one  object  to  be  seen. 

And  now  they  all  saw  it.  The  fish  with  their  shining 
scales  and  bright  dying  eyes  had  been  stowed  away,  and 
'suddenly  the  man  at  the  helm  pointed  a  long  bony  finger 
in  the  direction  of  the  ghost-like  object  to  windward.  The 
thing  was  recognized  in  silence.  It  assumed  an  almost 
upright  attitude  with  the  rising  of  the  waves  ;  and  as  they 
receded 'it  floated  backwards  as  a  graceful  swimmer  might. 
It  did  not,  in  taking  this  new  position,  however,  buffet  the 
water  as  a  live  swimmer  would,  but  rose  and  fell  with  a 
ghostly  rhythm  of  motion.  When  its  head  topped  the 
wa)res  horizontally  it  showed  a  human  face  distorted,  white 
and  swollen,  with  dark  hair. 

/Jl  three  toilers  of  the  deep  now  saw  the  apparition. 
It  \iras  more  than  a  ghost  and  less  thar  a  man.  Was  it 
some  pernicious  creature  of  the  sea  ?  How  should  they 
avoid  it  ? 

They  tacked.  They  turned  their  eyes  to  leeward.  They 
made  as  if  they  would  sail  for  the  open  sea. 

The  morning  hesitated  at  the  portals  of  day.  Once  or 
twice  it  threatened  to  go  back  into  the  night.  Unusual 
clouds  began  to  gather  about  the  East.  A  heavy  fall  of 
rain  pattered  down  upon  the  sea. 

The  swimming  figure  followed  the  ship.  They  had  both 
struck  the  same  current.  The  sailors  now  saw  it  in  a  new 
quarter.  They  were  afraid.  Again  they  tacked.  This 
time  the  prow  turned  towards  the  Lido.  The  men  had 
resumed  their  course. 

Presently  a  long  streak  of  light  illuminated  the  waters. 
The  rain  ceased.  It  was  nearly  morning.  The  sun  forced 
silver  lances  up  into  the  clouds. 


33*  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

And  now  there  could  be  no  mistake.  The  figure  was 
human  in  form,  but  its  face  was  a  weird  deformity.  It  was 
a  goblin,  a  monster,  a  something  horrible.  It  had  great 
white  hands  that  were  steering  it  towards  the  ship.  Its 
head  rose  and  fell  with  the  waves.  They  could  all  see  the 
nameless  thing.  They  fell  upon  their  knees  and  com- 
mended themselves  to  their  saints,  and  more  particularly 
to  her  who  had  vouchsafed  them  their  goodly  haul  of 
fish. 

Then  they  took  counsel  and  came  to  a  decision.  The 
monster  was  a  ghost.  They  were  convinced  of  it,  these 
three  Chiozotti.  They  crowded  all  sail  to  get  away  from 
it ;  when  suddenly,  as  if  under  the  influence  of  the  god  of 
day,  the  wind  fell  and  there  was  a  dead  calm.  The  sea, 
however,  still  rose  and  fell.  There  were  no  waves.  But 
the  keel  of  the  boat  made  a  gurgle  and  a  washing.  The 
sea  seemed  as  if  trying  to  break  into  a  wave,  but  it  only 
slopped  up  against  the  ship's  sides.  One  of  the  men 
thought  there  was  something  like  a  sob  accompanying  the 
bulging  motion  of  the  water. 

They  tempted  the  dead  breeze  from  every  point,  but  the 
ship  lay  still,  and  the  morning  in  silvery  splendor  began  to 
salute  and  glorify  distant  objects,  flashing  now  and  then 
through  the  clouds  into  a  white  path  across  the  iagoon 
right  up  to  the  ship.  In  one  of  these  passing  illuminations 
they  saw  the  ghost  clearly. 

"  It  is  no  ghost,"  said  the  bravest  of  the  three  ;  "  it  is  a 
dead  man." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  a  dead  mun  swimming  with  its  arms 
and  legs  as  a  live  man  swims  ?  "  said  the  other,  fortifying 
himself  with  a  long  drink  from  a  bottle  which  he  handed 
to  his  mates. 

"  It  does  indeed  swim,"  said  the  helmsman ;  "  that's 
true." 

"What  harm  can  come  to  us,"  said  the  first,  "having 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.   .  333 

commended  ourselves  to  the  Virgin  and  to  our  own  much 
beloved  and  beholden-to  saint  ?  " 

'*  She  did  not  help  Pierre  when  we  were  wrecked  and 
lost  our  mate,"  said  the  helmsman. 

*•  Forgive  him,  Santa  Maria  I "  exclaimed  the  second 
fisherman  ;  •'  he  knows  not  what  he  says  ! 

"  It  is  no  ghost,  comrades,"  repeated  the  bravest  of  the 
three,  "  only  a  drowned  man  ;  let  us  take  him  in  tow." 

"  What  if  he  take  us  in  tow  ?  "  said  the  first  of  the  Chio- 
zotti. 

"  Truly,  what  then  ?  "  exclaimed  the  helmsman.  "  Look 
at  him  !  Dead,  do  you  say  ?  Yes,  a  dead-alive ;  he 
swims,  don't  you  see  it,  first  on  his  breast,  then  on  his  side, 
and  thirdly  on  his  back.  Do  drowned  men  swim  like 
that?" 

"  It's  the  action  of  the  waves,"  said  the  second  fisherman, 
taking  another  drink. 

"  Strange  action  1 "  said  the  first. 

"  Yes,  I  grant  you,"  said  the  second ;  "  but  are  we  cow- 
ards ?  Have  we  been  out-  in  all  weathers,  and  seen  strange 
sights  by  night  and  day,  and  are  we  going  to  be  afraid  now 
that  the  sun  is  rising  and  Venezia  begins  to  look  across  the 
water  to  the  Lido  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  first  spokesman. 

"  What  shall  we  do,  good  comrade  ?  " 

**  Lower  the  boat  and  take  the  drowned  man  in  tow  1  " 
said  the  other,  handing  the  bottle  to  the  steersman,  who 
emptied  it  and  found  himself  more  courageous  by  two 
wine-glasses  full. 

"  But  see,"  he  said,  •'  nevertheless  it  is  coming  along  of 
its  own  accord.     It  needs  no  assistance  !  " 

"  There  will  be  a  reward,"  said  the  second  sailor.  ••  I 
see  gold  lace  ;  it  is  the  body  of  an  officer  in  uniform." 

"  Don't  romance,"  replied  the  first  fisherman  ;  "  it  is  the 
glint  of  th?  sun  on  the  w^t?r," 


334  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

By  this  time  the  sun  was  really  getting  up  in  the  heavens. 
The  sky  was  beginning  to  turn  blue.  Distant  mountains 
came  nearer. 

**  Lower  the  boat,  boys,"  said  the  bravest  of  the  three 
men.     "  I  will  fasten  a  line  to  the  ghost  I " 

The  helmsman  crossed  himself  as  he  lent  a  hand  to 
his  mates,  and  presently  the  boat  was  slipping  to  the  stern 
where  the  second  man  dropped  into  her  and  began  to  pull 
towards  the  strange  figure  "'hich  seemed  to  be  literally 
playing  with  the  waves. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Chioggia  fisherman  as  he  approached  it, 
"  gold  lace  sure  enough,  but  what  a  face  !  and,  mercy  on 
us,  how  dead-alive  it  looks  with  its  hands  waving  up  and 
down.  Ahoy,  mate,  heave  to  ! "  with  which  exclamation 
of  personal  encouragement  he  flung  a  thin  rope  across  the 
body  and  so  manoeuvred  it  that  in  a  minute  or  two  he  had 
fastened  a  stronger  one  to  it,  and  the  ghost  of  the  lagoon 
answered  to  the  tug  of  the  boat  which  the  fisherman  began 
to  pull  for  the  smack. 

The  vessel  hove  to,  and  the  adventurer  having  fastened 
his  boat  to  the  line  flung  out  by  the  helmsman,  scrambled 
aboard.  The  ghost  floated  in  companionship  with  the 
vessel's  boat,  which  dropped  quietly  astern.  The  Chioggia 
smack  now  hoisted  her  painted  sails  and  steered  for  the 
channel  by  the  Lido. 

It  was  an  ebb  tide,  and  the  water,  as  Mr.  Symonds  tells 
us  in  his  "  Italian  Sketches  "  at  such  time,  runs  past  the 
mulberry  gardens  of  this  pleasant  hamlet  like  a  river.  The 
fishing  boat,  with  its  ghastly  figure  at  the  stern,  swung 
into  this  rapid  stream  aided  by  a  freshening  breeze,  and 
from  the  other  side  of  the  Riva  no  doubt  looked  a  pretty 
object,  as  indeed  it  was  if  you  took  no  note  of  its  half- 
submerged  cargo— the  dead  passenger  with  its  great  white 
hands  and  its  equally  white  face,  like  soft,  h^lf-tanned 
leather, 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  331 

On  went  the  boat  and  its  silent  witness  past  the  grove 
of  acacia  trees  which  rise  out  of  its  tall  green  grasses,  where 
the  first  butterflies  of  summer  were  disporting  themselves 
for  their  brief  hour  or  two  of  gay  and  radiant  life. 

Presently  the  vessel's  course  was  changed  for  the  Custom 
House,  and  now  she  went  gliding  along  with  no  swelling 
motion,  except  such  as  the  wooing  wind  gave  her. 

The  sun  was  up.  Venice  was  alive.  A  little  crowd  of 
early  workmen  had  gathered  round  the  Victor  Emmanuel 
statue.  The  last  remnants  of  the  decorations  were  being 
removed.  The  pigeons  in  the  Grand  Square  of  St.  Mark's 
were  fluttering  over  their  first  meal  of  the  day.  The  two 
royal  standards  opposite  the  famous  church  were  flying  in 
the  morning  breeze. 

A  cluster  of  gondolas  were  lying  by  the  steps  in  the 
shadow  of  the  Lion  of  St.  Mark's.  Picturesque  groups 
of  men  and  women  were  standing  near.  The  gorgeous 
palaces  were  glassing  themselves  in  the  Grand  Canal  with 
blurred  effects  of  form  and  color  made  by  the  rippling 
water.  Round  the  corner  of  the  Pizarro  Palace  where  the 
Countess  Stravensky  had  looked  down  from  the  window 
of  her  boudoir,  however,  the  water  was  still  and  showed 
every  line  of  architecture,  every  lichen  on  the  ancient 
walls,  every  bit  of  ooze  and  green  slime  that  clung  to  the 
lower  stones  on  the  water's  edge,  but  there  was  no  trace 
of  the  tragedy  of  the  recenr  festival  any  more  than  there 
was  of  those  others  which  had  preceded  it  in  bygone  days. 
Nor  had  the  wavelets  in  front  of  the  palace  anything  to 
show  or  to  say  of  the  magnificent  reception,  the  gay  and 
festal  music  of  which  had  been  the  dirge  which  Vengeance 
had  prepared  for  the  Russian  general  who  had  presided 
over  the  outrages  of  Czarovna. 

All  the  world  looked  so  happy  on  this  morning  as  if  the 
bright  sun,  the  soft  breeze,  the  clear  sky,  the  perfume  of 
flowers  (brought  from  the  mainland  by  a  passing  boat) 
had  been  given  as  compensation  for  the  closing  of  the 


$3$  BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

royal  festival ;  or  as  if  the  spirit  of  Venice  had  risen  up 
to  let  her  worshippers  feel  that  the  city  in  the  sea  needed 
nothing  of  festival  or  music  or  royal  guests,  or  flags  and 
banners,  and  painted  boats  to  make  her  desirable,  but 
that  she  was  loveliest  with  aught  else  but  her  own  beauty. 

And  yet  trailing  along  her  dreamy  city  was  that  bleached 
and  ghastly  thing  that  a  little  way  off  looked  like  a  strong 
swimmer  at  his  ease,  his  extending  arms  and  legs  rising 
and  falling  with  the  motion  of  the  vessel  in  company  with 
which  he  was  enjoying  the  bright  gay  morning.  But  what 
a  ghastly  mockery  it  turned  out  to  be  when  the  Chioggia 
smack  cast  anchor  and  dropped  her  sails.  And  what  a 
reception  it  had  from  the  chattering  crowd  that  collected 
on  the  quay — all  talking  at  once,  some  crossing  themselves, 
others  professing  to  recognize  the  corpse,  all  presently 
making  way  for  the  Custom  House  authorities  and  the 
police. 

"  General  Petronovitch,"  said  one  of  the  chiefs  of  police, 
"  he  who  disappeared  on  the  night  of  the  illuminations ; 
and  this  (taking  from  the  body  a  dagger  that  was  entangled 
rather  with  the  clothing  than  with  the  flesh)  the  cause  of 
death,  perhaps." 

On  the  blade  of  the  rusted  knife  could  still  be  seen 
deeply  engraven  a  word  of  Arabic,  which  a  learned  priest 
translated  into  Italian,  French,  and  English.  They  were 
the  same  Arabic  letters  as  those  that  were  embossed  upon 
the  amulet  that  the  Countess  Stravensky  wore  at  Mrs. 
Chetwynd's  reception,  and  the  word  was  *<  Vengeance  !  " 

Thus  the  judicial  murderer  of  the  Rabbi  Losinski,  the? 
assassin  of  the  household  peace  and  joy  of  the  Klosstocks, 
and  the  scourge  of  Czarovna,  flung  after  execution  into 
the  sea,  had  come  back  again  to  Venice  a  witness  of  tb« 
far-reaching  hand  of  Nihilistic  vengeance. 


SY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

POETRY,    PROSE,    AND   THE   DEAD   SWIMMER. 

From  Verona  to  Como  is  a  day's  journey.  Under  any 
circumstances,  there  is  no  monotony  in  it,  but  traveling 
in  pleasant  companionship  it  is  perhaps  one  of  the  most 
delightful  of  continental  railway  journeys.  The  scenery 
is  never  uninteresting,  and  there  are  always  in  the  distance 
fine  ranges  of  snow-capped  mountains. 

The  happy  English  party  from  Venice,  it  need  hardly  be 
said,  found  the  trip  full  of  a  new  and  special  interest.  Dolly 
was  radiant.  It  needed  no  psychological  student  to  dis- 
cover that  Sam  Swynford  was  the  selection  of  her  heart. 
If  he  had  been  wise  in  his  estimation  of  female  character,  he 
ought  to  have  discovered  in  his  earliest  acquaintanceship 
with  Jenny's  lively  sister  that  her  "  stand  off-ishness  "  and 
sallies  of  wit  at  his  expense  were  only  feminine  indications 
of  interest,  if  not  love.  It  was  perhaps  a  little  feline, 
while  she  purred,  to  make  her  lover  conscious  of  an 
occasional  scratch.  Had  the  amiable  young  stockbroker 
responded  with  the  manful  intimation  that  he  was  not 
to  be  wounded  with  impunity  nor  without  resentment,  it 
is  quite  possible  that  the  shadow  of  Philip  Forsyth  might 
never  have  fallen  upon  Dolly's  fateful  youth.  She  had  in 
her  secret  heart  loved  Swynford  none  the  less  that  she  had 
occasionally  made  him  suffer.  It  was  only  the  trifling  of 
a  somewhat  coquettish  nature.  Swynford  had,  in  slave- 
like worship,  flung  himself  at  her  feet,  and  she  had  placed 
her  foot  upon  iiis  neck,  not  viciously,  but  with  something  of 

the  pride  of  conquest.    She  would  have  appreciated  from 

22 


4l  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

• 

{^ain  the  spirited  response  that  such  treatment  would  have 
received  from  Philip  Forsyth,  because  she  knew  that  Sam 
was  devotedly  attached  to  her.  She  had  doubts  of  Philip, 
was  flattered  by  his  attention,  urged  to  accept  him  by  her 
sister,  who  had  no  other  object  but  Dolly's  social  and 
happy  advancement  in  life. 

The  truth  is,  the  two  pretty  young  women  were  as  much 
above  the  average  of  their  sex  in  genuine  amiability  as 
they  were  in  appearance  and  manners.  They  had,  in  the 
course  of  their  education  and  training,  annexed  uncon- 
sciously some  of  the  snobbishness  of  the  upper  middle 
class  in  small  social  victories ;  delighted  in  being  received 
in  a  higher  grade  of  society  than  their  neighbors ;  found 
in  social  success  of  this  kind  greater  pleasure  than  should 
belong  to  the  honest  performance  of  their  home  duties ; 
liked  of  course  to  be  admired  rather  for  their  beauty  than 
their  intellectual  qualities ;  were  ambitious  more  or  less 
selfishly  for  distinction  in  their  husbands  that  they,  the 
wives,  might  assume  the  role  of  superior  persons  ;  were,  in 
fact,  good  women  with  women's  weaknesses. 

No  hostess  was  more  gracious  than  Mrs.  Milbanke,  nor 
more  successful  in  her  popular  little  parties,  and  Dolly 
might  well  be  envied  for  her  high  spirits,  her  healthful 
constitution,  her  bright  eyes,  and  her  unquestionable 
beauty.  Philip  Forsyth  had  been  proud  to  be  seen  escort- 
ing her  in  the  tents  of  Vanity  Fair,  proud  of  the  attention 
her  happy,  pretty  face  invoked,  proud  of  the  envy  it  ex- 
cited among  women,  and  the  envy  he  excited  as  her  pros- 
pective husband.  But  Sam  Swynford,  in  his  more  com- 
mon-place nature,  had  paid  far  higher  tribute  to  Dolly's 
natural  fascinations  than  was  possible  to  Philip  Forsyth. 
S  m  had  no  ambition  apart  from  her.  In  every  specula- 
tion he  was  inspired  with  the  hope  of  a  future  with  Dolly. 
He  administered  to  her  little  vanities  in  every  way  that 
was  possible  to  his  position  as  her  admirer  and  an  inti- 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  339 

mate  friend  of  the  family.  He  remembered  all  the  days 
in  which  she  was  specially  interested — Christmas,  the  New 
Year,  St.  Valentine's,  Easter,  her  birthday,  Jenny's  birth- 
day, Walter's  birthday.  She  always  said  he  had  excellent 
taste  in  the  choice  of  flowers,  the  binding  of  books,  and 
the  selection  of  dainty  bits  of  bric-a  brae.  But  Jenny 
could  not  forget  that  Sam  had  in  his  speech  a  suggestion 
of  North  Country  dialect,  and  was  a  little  inclined  10  over- 
dress, took  no  pains  to  cultivate  aristocratic  society,  and 
was,  after  all,  only  a  stockbroker ;  so  that  when  Philip 
Forsyth,  with  his  distinguished  style  and  manner,  his 
artistic  prospects,  his  promising  position  in  society,  and 
his  notable  circle  of  friends,  came  along  as  a  rival  to 
Swynford,  Mrs.  Milbanke  took  Dolly's  future  into  her 
hands  and  brought  about  the  engagement  which  had 
ended  so  disastrously.  She  now  congratulated  herself 
and  her  three  companions  on  continuing  their  Italian 
holiday  with  the  new  love,  and  being  entirely  off  with  the 
old,  and  confessed  to  Walter  that  there  was  something 
nobler  in  life  than  some  of  the  aims  which  had  engrossed 
her  ambition,  upon  the  sunken  rocks  of  which  she  had 
nearly  wrecked  Dolly's  future  ;  but  Walter  would  not 
hear  of  the  smallest  thought  of  self-abasement  on  the  part 
of  his  pretty  and  affectionate  wife,  and  he  vowed  that  he 
had  always  felt  somehow  or  other  that  everything  would 
come  right  for  Dolly,  although  he  was  anxious  to  make 
believe  that  if  anyone  was  to  blame  for  hastening  that  un- 
fortunate engagement  it  was  he  himself. 

Altogether  the  party  was  under  the  influence  of  affec- 
tionate self-denial  and  mutual  congratulation  upon  the 
course  events  had  taken.  At  present  they  did  not,  from 
a  sympathetic  point  of  view,  feel  the  shadow  of  Philip 
Forsyth's  strange  disaffection,  and  they  had  no  knowledge 
of  that  sensation  which  the  Ghost  of  the  Lagoons  hjvd 
gr?ftte<i  in  Y^ai<?«t 


340.  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

They  arrived  at  Como,  a  picturesque  city  at  the  head 
of  the  famous  lake,  where  Walter  had  secured  rooms  at 
the  best  hotel  in  the  square  by  the  quay  where  you  take 
the  lake  steamers  or  hire  rowing  boats.  After  an  excel- 
lent dinner  Walter  and  Swynford  sat  in  the  balcony, 
smoked  their  cigars,  and  watched  the  sunset.  Dolly  and 
Jenny  unpacked  their  valises  and  talked  over  the  day's 
adventures. 

The  next  morning  they  were  to  go  on  to  Bellaggio. 
Sam  and  Walter  were  up  with  the  lark,  interested  in  study- 
ing the  picturesque  and  busy  secularization  of  Sunday  in 
Italy,  which  is  strikingly  illustrated  in  this  little  city  of 
Como.  Jugglers,  hawkers,  vendors  of  iced  drinks,  and 
holiday  people  were  in  the  Square  from  the  earliest  hour 
on  Sunday  morning.  Later,  there  were  .steamers  arriving 
with  bands  of  music  and  democratic  societies  out  for  the 
day.  Members  of  rival  and  friendly  associations  met 
these  political  combinations  on  the  quay,  where  they 
palavered  and  exchanged  emphatic  civilities.  Their  bands 
Twynford  considered  to  be  nearly  as  bad  as  those  of  the 
Salvation  Army  in  England ;  he  hoped  they  had  not 
traveled  all  that  distance  to  make  the  acquaintance  of 
such  ribald  music.  Walter,  discoursing  with  a  bystander, 
discovered  that  the  musicians  were  hired  for  such  occa- 
sions as  these  by  political  administrators  and  the  Odd 
Fellows  and  Foresters  of  Italy.  The  banners  of  these 
Orders  were,  however,  more  easily  carried  than  those  of 
our  English  confraternities.  They  did  not  indulge  in 
those  tremendous  pictures  which  in  England  stretch  right 
across  the  streets  and  are  borne  aloft  in  high  winds  with 
much  sweat  and  struggle  by  even  the  strongest  and 
doughtiest  of  Oddfellows  and  the  most  stalwart  of  Robin 
Hoods. 

The  square  of  Como  was  very  busy  all  Sunday,  and  so 
were  the  streets ;  busy  with  people  who  were  shopkeeping, 


Sy  ORDER  OF  Tf/E  CZAR.  %%X 

going  to  chur4.n,  marketing,  singing,  working.  At  night 
the  vocalists  were  in  the  ascendancy,  but,  as  Walter  re- 
marked, they  did  sing  and  they  were  not  drunk.  They 
awoke  the  echoes  of  the  surrounding  hills  with  madrigals 
and  chorus.  If  the  squar'^  of  Como  had  been  a  thorough- 
fare in  an  English  city  those  bands  of  workmen  and 
holiday-makers  would,  it  is  to  be  feared,  have  been  roaring 
out  some  music-hall  song  or  hiccoughing  a  vulgar  chorus 
of  the  slums. 

"  One  goes  from  home,"  said  Walter,  "  not  only  to  see 
how  great  England  is  in  many  things,  but  how  small,  not 
to  say  brutal,  she  may  be  in  others." 

In  the  afternoon  our  English  travelers  said  their 
prayers  with  the  rest  of  the  church-going  community,  and 
towards  evening  made  their  first  little  excursion  on  the 
lake,  which  they  navigated  in  dreamy  sunshine  on  the 
morrow. 

Sweet  and  gentle  searchers  after  truth  have  discovered 
that  Bulwer  Lytton  adapted  his  poetic  description  of  the 
Lake  of  Como  from  a  foreign  source  ;  other  philanthropic 
critics  have  at  the  same  time  ridiculed  the  poem  as  utterly 
overdone  being  applied  to  the  famous  Italian  lake.  Per- 
mit a  humble  worshipper  of  nature,  and  one  who  loves 
art  none  the  le^^j,  to  say  that  Bulwer's  half  page  of  sug- 
gestive description  is  only  a  famt  indication  of  the  spirit 
and  beauty  of  the  Lake  of  Como.  Why,  there  is  even  an 
hotel  at  Bellaggio,  half  way  down  the  lake,  which  goes 
near  t6  be  worthy  of  the  well-known  lines  : — 

"  A  palace  lifting  to  eternal  summer 

Its  marble  walls  from  out  a  glossy  bower 
,    Of  coolest  foliage,  musical  with  birds." 

The  lake  is  a  sheet  of  water  thirty-five  miles  in  length, 
and  every  yard  of  it  a  picture  of  romantic  beauty — high 
sloping  hills  that  hem  you  in  now  and  then,  making  not 


34a  BV  ORDER  OP  THE  CZAH, 

one  lake,  but  many ;  hills  that  are  clothed  With  foliage 
and  backed  at  many  points  by  distant  Alps  thac  are 
clothed  in  everlasting  snow.  As  the  steamer  skirts  the 
shore  you  see  that  the  gardens  of  the  innumerable  villas 
are  filled  with  flowers,  that  the  houses  are  of  all  descrip- 
tions, palaces,  cottages,  chalets,  lodges,  hotels ;  as  they 
go  high  up  into  the  mountains  they  dwindle  off  into  the 
cots  of  vineyard-tenders  or  herdsmen.  It  is  wonderful 
now  and  then  to  see  up  in  the  mountains  villages  which 
look  like  flights  of  buildings  that  have  settled  down  in 
clusters  as  pigeons  might,  all  in  a  heap,  with  a  few  trees 
above  them,  and  always  the  sheltering  elbows  of  con- 
venient Alps.  The  season  is  late  they  tell  me  on  the  boats 
and  at  the  hotel,  yet  the  air  is  soft  and  balmy,  great 
bunches  of  westeria  decorate  garden  walls,  lilac,  rhodo- 
dendron, Guelder  roses,  chestnuts  are  in  full  bloom,  and 
at  every  village  where  the  steamer  touches,  men  and 
women  are  sitting  out  of  doors,  the  men  swinging  their 
legs  over  quay  walls,  the  women  sewing  or  tending  chil- 
dren, all  in  "  summery  "  dresses,  and  we  have  long  since 
discarded  wraps  and  overcoats,  and  find  the  weather  hot 
enough  despite  the  breeze  of  the  steamer  in  rapid  motion. 
Bellaggio  is  probably  the  most  delightful  point  of  the  lake. 
It  is  fifteen  miles  from  its  northern  extremity,  and  divides 
the  lake  into  two  branches. 

Here  the  travelers  commenced  their  delightful  expe- 
riences of  Bellaggio.  The  weather  was  like  July  in  En- 
gland, though  the  time  was  early  May.  The  sky  was 
characteristically  Italian.  The  windows  of  the  hotel  were 
open.  From  the  g  "at  drawing-room  came  the  voice  of  a 
prima  donna  of  the  lyric  stage,  whom  some  traveling 
companions  had  persuaded  to  sing  a  few  snatches  from 
"  Othello  "  and  "  Lohengrin."  The  terraces  of  the  hotel 
were  reflected  in  the  lake  in  deep  colors  of  green  and 
pink  and  red  and  yellow,  repetitions  of  grass  and  flowers. 


sy  onryRR  of  the  czar,  %^^ 

On  the  opposite  shore  the  lake  was  bordered  by  a  sweep 
of  architecture  that  melted  away  into  hill  and  dale  ;  and 
far  off  on  the  right  the  snow  mountains  pretended  they 
were  white  clouds  capping  the  rich  blue  of  the  sky.  In 
the  little  town  there  was  a  piazza  out  of  which  every  now 
and  then  ran  narrow  street  ways  up  to  the  hills ;  little 
streets  literally  of  climbing  steps.  When  you  looked  up 
these  narrow  ways  and  saw  women  coming  down  with 
children  in  their  arms,  or  men  lolling  against  curious  door- 
ways, you  could  only  wish  you  were  an  artist  with  nothing 
else  in  the  world  to  do  but  to  put  these  pictures  into  black 
and  white  for  magazines,  or  better  still,  into  all  their  glory 
of  color  for  popular  picture  galleries.  When  the  luscious- 
ness  of  full  summer  comes  to  Lake  Como,  and  rests  upon 
the  clustering  hills  of  Bellaggio,  and  dreams  in  a  sunny 
glow  down  in  the  valleys,  it  is  no  stretch  of  fancy  to 
imagine  the  perfumed  light  of  some  marble  palace  stealing 
through  the  mist  of  alabaster  lamps,  and  every  air 

*'  Heavy  with  the  sighs 
Of  orange  groves  and  music  from  sweet  lutes, 
And  murmurs  of  low  fountains  that  gush  forth 
I*  the  mist  of  roses." 

"  Of  course  I  like  the  picture,"  said  Dolly,  "  but  not  for 
always,  Sam." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  asked,  pressing  her  arm  as 
they  lounged  upon  the  terrace  watching  the  light  and 
shade  upon  the  distant  hills. 

"  Beautiful  for  a  visit,"  said  Dolly ;  "  perfectly  lovely, 
but  too  good  for  the  likes  of  I,  as  Walter's  gardener  says 
down  in  the  Midlands." 

"You  really  feel  like  that?"  said  Sam.  "I'm  so 
awfully  glad,  because  I  was  thinking  somewhat  in  that 
direction." 

"Really?"  she  asked. 


(344  ^^  ORDER  OF  TITE  CZAR. 

"  Indeed  most  truly,"  he  said.  "  I  once  knew  an  odd, 
simple  kiiK  of  rich  man  who  owned  a  palace  in  Worcester- 
shire, buc  lived  in  the  lodge  which  stood  by  the  road  at 
his  gates.  Of  course,  Dolly,  I  could  live  with  you,  rny 
dear,  anywhere,  palace  or  cottage,  a  garret  in  Bloomsbury 
or  a  bijou  villa  standing  in  its  own  grounds  at  Kensing- 
ton." 

"  Sam,  you're  so  odd  1 " 

"  When  I  said  garret,'  said  Sam,  • '  of  course  I  only 
meant  it  as  a  figure  of  speech — a  fagon  de  purler,  as  Wal- 
ter would  say ;  but  without  you  I  can  imagine  myself  in 
this  Bellaggio  palace  longing  for  a  cottage  on  the  hills 
opposite,  or  trying  to  negotiate  an  exchange  of  rooms 
with  one  of  those  loafing  peasants  who  live  at  the  top  of 
the  narrow  avenues  that  give  upon  the  Piazza,  where  those 
wrinkled  old  women  we  saw  this  afternoon  sell  toy  dis- 
taffs and  bric-a-bric." 

"  Our  thoughts  are  certainly  sympathetic,  Sam,"  said 
Dolly.  "  I  shall  often  dream  of  this  lovely  place.  If  we 
were  to  live  here  we  ought  to  dress  in  costume,  as  they  do 
upon  the  stage.  I  could  never  endure  to  go  about  in  such 
scenery  i.i  ordinary  clothes." 

"  That's  because,"  said  Sam,  "  you  never  see  this  kind 
of  thing  in  pictures  without  Italian  men  and  women  in  all 
sorts  of  fancy  dress.  The  best  studies  of  lakes  and  moun- 
tains and  water-falls,  with  palaces  and  foreign  costumes, 
seem  to  me  to  be  like  chromos  ;  but  wouldn't  those  wrin- 
kled old  women  on  the  Piazza  make  fine  subjects  for 
Professor  Herkoraer.     Forsyth  would  have " 

"  Don't  mention  that  name,  Sam  ;  not  yet,  at  all  events. 
It  makes  me  feel  as  if  I  would  like  you  to  slap  me  in  the 
face." 

"  Dolly  !  "  exclaimed  Sam,  entirely  forgetting  what  he 
was  going  to  say  about  Forsyth. 

"  It  does,"  said  Dolly.  "  I  don't  wonder  at  those  strong 
men  in  the  East  End  of  London  beating  their  wives." 


BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  345 


«' 


"  Dolly,  Dolly,"  said  Sam,  with  his  arm  round  her  waist 
and  "  awfully  happy,"  as  he  told  her  afterwards,  "  you'll 
make  me  feel  miserable  if  you  talk  in  that  way.  Besides, 
fancy  drifting  from  *  glassy  bowers,  musical  with  birds, 
palaces  lifting  to  eternal  summer,  and  orange  groves  heavy 
with  the  sighs  of  music  from  sweet  lutes,'  into  the  bar- 
barism of  Whitechapel  and  women-beaters  !  P'or  good- 
ness' sake,  don't  tell  Jenny  what  we  talked  of,  and  don't 

mention  it  to  Walter.     We  shall  be  rhaffed  unmercifully. 
Let  us  go  back  to  poetry  and  sentimtit." 

*'  That's  the  bell  for  dinner,"  said  Walter  Milbanke, 
coming  upon  them  unobserved,  and  calling  their  attention 
to  the  sounding  gong  beyond  the  terrace,  "  and  here  are 
the  English  newspapers.  Such  a  discovery,  by  Jove  ! 
How  Comedy  and  Tragedy  do  go  hand  in  hand  !  They 
have  found  General  Petronovitch  floating  with  the  tide 
from  the  Adriatic  into  the  lagoons,  stabbed  to  the  heart 
with  a  dagger  on  which  is  engraved,  in  Arabic,  the  word 
*  Vengeance.'" 

"  How  dreadful ! "  exclaimed  Dolly. 

"  It  is  believed,"  continued  Walter,  **  that  he  was  killed 
on  the  night  of  the  illuminations  and  taken  out  to  sea  in 
one  of  the  many  boats  we  saw  on  that  exciting  night.  By 
Jove,  it's  worthy  of  the  ancient  days  of  Venice." 

"  I'm  glad  we  didn't  stay,"  remarked  Dolly. 

"  So  am  I,"  said  Swynford,  "  and  you'll  excuse  me, 
V/alter,  if  I  don't  tear  my  hair  over  Petronovitch.  I  feel 
so  awfully  happy." 

"You  look  it,  my  boy,  you  look  it.  Come  along,  then, 
we  will  dismiss  the  Venetian  ghost  and  try  the  Bellaggio 
cuisine.  I  think  it's  all  right.  I  have  interviewed  the 
chef,  and  discovered  a  brand  of  champagne  that  I  think 
will  even  astonish  you,  you  City  sybarite  ! " 


^6  MY  ORDER  OF  TUh.  CZAX, 


CHAPTER   XLV. 

THE   COUNTESS  TELLS   HER    STORY   TO  THE    BROTHER- 
i«OOD   AND    PHILIP. 

The  foreign  quarter  of  Loudoa  with  which  the  public  is 
supposed  to  be  most  familiar  is  in  truth  the  least  known 
of  the  many  mysterious  districts  of  the  great  metropolis. 

Soho,  in  its  own  peculiar  way,  possesses  as  many  strange 
ramifications  as  the  black  circle  of  Whitechapel,  which 
environs  the  tragic  footsteps  of  the  most  terrible  o< 
modern  assassins.  The  police  have  the  key  to  many  of 
the  retreats  in  which  political  exiles  and  foreign  conspira- 
tors meet  to  hold  friendly  intercourse,  and  to  hatch  plots 
of  social  regeneration  and  personal  vengeance.  But  Scot- 
land Yard  has  no  special  reason  for  interfering  with  the 
meetings  of  these  continental  outcasts,  so  long  as  they  do 
not  offend  the  English  laws. 

The  liberty  of  the  subject  in  these  islands  covers  the 
stranger  as  well  as  the  native.  To  plot  against  the  life  of 
potentate,  statesman  or  private  citizen,  however,  of  this 
or  any  other  country  would,  of  course,  bring  conspirators 
under  legal  restraint ;  but  it  is  not  the  business  of  the 
London  police  to  act  the  part  of  spies  upon  political 
exiles  ;  and  who  is  to  interpret  the  secret  thoughts  of  the 
solemn  mysterious  men  and  women  who  live  quiet  lives 
in  the  regions  of  Soho,  or  report  to  the  police  the  spoken 
words  of  their  private  gatherings  ? 

England,  America  and  Switzerland  have  for  many  years 
been  the  plotting  grounds  of  Nihilists  and  Social  Demo- 
crats. 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  347 

If  it  were  possible  to  separate  the  patriot  whose  faith 
and  hopes  are  satisfied  by  a  wholesome  agitation,  from  the 
patriot  whose  bitter  political  programme  is  one  of  dagger, 
dynamite,  and  violent  social  upheaval,  the  Government 
would  no  doubt  be  ready  to  draw  a  hard  and  fast  line  on 
the  side  of  pacific  operations  as  against  the  violence  of 
revolution.  But  liberty  is  compelled  to  allow  a  large 
margin  for  license,  and  it  is  better  that  an  occasional  cul- 
prit, who  might  deserve  death  or  life-long  imprisonment, 
should  receive  the  protection  of  our  shores  rather  than  an 
ur.chrck.'^d  despotism  should  wor';  its  v;!!  'jpon  the  high- 
minded  agitator,  whose  okiiy  crime  is  a  national  enthu- 
siasm for  the  regeneration  of  his  country. 

And  so  it  comes  about  that  London  is  the  sanctuary  of 
the  political  exile,  not  being  actually  a  proved  murderer 
liable  to  extradition ;  though  it  must  be  confessed  that 
Soho  has  sheltered  many  a  conspirator  who  has  been 
associated  with  attacks  on  authority  entitled  to  condem- 
nation as  outside  the  pale  of  mere  political  conspiracy. 

Of  such  was  more  than  one  of  the  persons  met  together, 
some  two  weeks  after  the  Venetian /?/«,  at  the  Parisian 
Cabaret,  in  a  certain  cul-de-sac  known  as  Thomas'  Alley, 
within  a  stone's  throw  of  Dean  Street. 

The  Parisian  Cabaret  was  a  small  unpretentious  caf6, 
at  the  extreme  end  of  Thomas'  Alley  ;  smuggled  away  in 
one  corner  of  it,  as  if  it  had  been  built  into  an  uninten- 
tional architectural  vacancy — an  after-thought  in  the 
higgledy-piggledy  plan  ofthe  original  builders.  The  lower 
part  of  the  house  was  occupied  with  a  large  bow-window 
and  a  quaint  doorway,  with  an  over-decoration  in  the 
centre  of  whicn  was  a  date  indicating  that  the  architecture 
belonged  to  the  picturesque  period  before  the  age  of 
stucco  and  iron.  The  upper  stories  were  curiously 
gabled ;  and  the  quaint  windows,  glazed  in  much  smaller 
squares  than  is  usual  in  these  days,  were  prettily  deco- 


34*  ^y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

rated  with  French  blinds,  neatly  tied  back  with  colored 
ribbons.  The  place  had  a  singularly  clean  look ;  and  the 
principal,  and,  indeed,  only  saloon  for  eating,  drinking 
and  dominoes,  had  a  white  sanded  floor  and  white  painted 
pannelling  that  were  pleasantly  characteristic.  The 
Parisian  Cabaret  was,  indeed,  much  cleaner  and  far  incre 
agreeable  to  look  upon  than  most  of  its  customers,  one  or 
two  of  whom  lived  on  the  premises  ;  notably  Ivan  Kos- 
tanzhoglo,  who  was  a  moving  spirit  of  that  brotherhood  in 
which  Ann  Klosstock  had  been  enrolled  as  one  of  the  two 
women  who  had  been  considered  worthy  of  its  confidence. 

Ivan  Kostanzhoglo  had  been  for  some  time  stationed 
in  London  as  a  controlling  agent  of  certain  movements 
that  had  been  made  more  or  less  in  combination  with 
other  sections  of  the  Young  Russian  party ;  but,  under 
orders,  he  was  about  to  run  the  risk  of  reappearing  in  St. 
Petersburg,  where  a  rendezvous  had  been  settled  for  him- 
self, Paul  Petroski,  Anna  Klosstock,  Andrea  Ferrari,  and 
other  earnest  confederates. 

The  startling  incident  of  the  far-reaching  power  of 
Nihilistic  vengeance  at  Venice,  while  it  had  stiffened  the 
surveillance  of  the  Russian  police  at  all  the  ports  of  entry 
into  Russia,  and  led  to  numerous  arrests  in  the  interior, 
had  exercised  a  tremendous  revivifying  influence  upon 
the  widespread  conspiracy  which  aimed  at  the  overthrow 
of  the  Imperial  power.  The  guides  and  chiefs  of  the 
party  of  action  believed  in  following  up  the  assassination  of 
Petronovitch  with  a  striking  dramatic  demonstration  at 
headquarters. 

It  was  in  connection  with  this  so-called  patriotic  action 
of  the  young  Russian  party  that  the  private  doors  of  the 
small  underground  apartment,  which  was  rented  by  Ivan 
Kostanzhoglo,  were  open  to  receive  company  some  two 
weeks  after  the  Ghost  of  the  Lagooijs  had  startled  Venice 
from  its  customary  repose. 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  349 

Sitting  at  a  round  table,  lighted  with  a  lamp,  were  our 
friends  Ferrari,  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  a  loose  light  coat  hang- 
ing over  his  chair  (it  was  a  very  hot  night) ;  Anna  Kloss- 
tock,  in  a  simple  sober  black  gown,  without  collar  or 
cuffs,  her  hair  gathered  up  beneath  a  black  bonnet ;  Paul 
Petroski,  of  Moscow,  who  had  kept  his  faith  at  the  little 
hotel  on  the  quay  at  Venice,  and  also  at  the  Fazio  Palace  ; 
Ivan  Kostanzlioglo,  a  swarthy,  thick-set  Muscovite,  attired 
in  semi-fashionable  French  garments;  and  three  others 
whom  it  is  unnecessary  to  name. 

"  I  claim,"  said  Anna  Klosstock,  "  the  right  to  acquaint 
him  with  my  history  in  your  presence  before  the  final  oath 
is  administered  to  him," 

"  Madame  knows  best,"  said  Ivan,  who  sat  opposite  to 
her,  quietly  rolling  cigarettes  and  smoking  them,  as  if  to 
do  so  was  the  one  chief  duty  in  life. 

"  We  know  madame's  history,"  said  Paul.  "  Why  re- 
peat it  in  our  presence  ?  " 

"  Have  our  friends,"  asked  Anna,  turning  to  Ferrari  and 
then  glancing  at  the  three  persons  unnamed,  **  been  made 
acquainted  with  our  victory  at  Venice  ?  " 

"  We  only  know,"  said  one  of  them,  **  that  Petronovitch, 
our  bitterest  foe,  has  fallen  before  the  triumphant  on- 
slaught of  the  Brotherhood." 

**  It  will  give  encouragement  to  your  hopes  and  strength 
to  your  arm  to  hear  that  recital.  I  count  it  a  part  of  my 
duty  to  record  unto  you  an  account  of  my  stewardship, 
and  that  of  our  brethren,  Ferrari  and  Petroski." 

"  We  shall  thank  you  for  the  revelation,"  said  one. 

"  It  is  no  doubt  our  due  to  know  it,"  said  the  other. 

"  And  there  is  nothing  so  inspiritin<y  as  a  general's  own 
story  of  his  victory,"  said  the  third. 

"  In  a  few  minutes,"  said  Anna  Klosstock,  "  there  will 
arrive,  for  admission  to  the  Brotherhood,  a  young  English 
gentleman,  who  is  devoted  to  me  and  my  poor  fortunes.  He 


3S0  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

has  accepted  at  the  hands  of  Andrea  Ferrari  the  oath  of 
secrecy;  but  not  the  oath  of  comradeship,  which  would 
entitle  him  to  our  pass-words  and  to  share  the  glories  and 
dangers  of  our  cause.  Brothers,"  she  said,  rising,  "  this 
young  man  has  none  of  the  motives  that  we  have  for  the 
labors  and  dangers  we  have  undertaken.  He  was  born  in 
Moscow,  it  is  true,  and  in  his  early  youth  saw  our  brother 
and  sister  exiles  of  the  past  go  forth  upon  their  fatal  jour- 
neying to  Siberia.  He  has  a  sensitive  and  generous 
•  nature ;  the  memory  of  those  things  has  sunk  deep  into 
his  heart ;  but  he  is  young.  His  mother  is  a  widow  ;  a 
patriot,  a  devoted  friend  of  all  exiles.  It  is  his  misfortune 
to  have  fallen  in  love  with  your  humble  companion." 

The  smile  that  for  a  moment  illuminated  the  face  of 
Ivan  Kostanzhoglo  vanished  at  a  glance  from  Ferrari ; 
and  Anna  Klosstock  continued  to  speak  as  if  she  were 
alone,  unconscious  of  the  men  who  sat  around  her. 

"It  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  say  to  what  extent  I 
have  returried  his  strange  devotion." 

"  Not  very  strange,"  whispered  one  of  the  unnamed  to 
his  neighbor,  "  if  a  lovely  face  and  figure  have  anything  to 
do  with  inspiring  love." 

"  But,"  she  continued,  "  I  am  unwilling  that  for  my  sake 
this  young  English  gentleman  shall  further  jeopardize  his 
position  and  his  liberty.  He  profei5ses  to  be  under  the 
spell  of  our  great  cause,  to  desire  no  other  life  than  one 
that  shall  be  devoted  to  it,  in  memory  of  his  young  life  in 
Moscow,  and  that  he  may  be  at  least  my  comrade.  He 
only  knows  me  as  the  Countess  Stravensky.  To  him 
Anna  Klosstock  is  nothing.  Her  life,  her  love,  her 
miseries,  her  motives  for  revenge,  her  part  in  our  great 
victory  of  Venice  are  to  him  an  entire  blank.  While  re- 
porting, as  one  of  our  secret  brotherhood,  to  this  meeting, 
I  desire  to  convey  to  him  the  particulars  of  my  career, 
that  they  may  disenchant  him  and  show  him.  the  abyssi 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  351 

upon  which  he  stands.  Should  he  then  persist  in  throw- 
ing in  his  lot  with  ours,  I  ask  you  to  accept  him." 

As  she  sat  down  there  was  a  murmur  of  dissent,  question, 
and  admiration  ;  and  the  entire  brotherhood  for  a  few 
moments  seemed  all  to  be  talking  at  once,  but  not  much 
above  a  whisper. 

Presently  Ferrari  was  heard  alone. 

"  To  me,  madam's  wish,"  he  said,  "  is  law.  Through- 
out all  our  operations,  in  every  instance  of  i>eril,  madame 
has  never  made  a  mistake.  I  have  to  this  young  man 
adr./'.istered  the  first  oath  •  of  secrecy.  I  believe  him 
worthy,  and  capable  of  being  one  of  us.  My  vote  is  foi: 
madame." 

"  And  mine,"  said  Ivan  Kostanzhoglo  ;  "  though  it  is  a 
dangerous  element,  the  admission  of  a  sentiment  beyond 
patriotism." 

'*  But  love,"  said  Paul  Petroski,  *'  is  a  power  that  has 
helped  us  often,  and  in  many  straits." 

**  And  we  agree,"  said  one  of  the  three  unnamed,  **  that 
it  is  to  the  frank,  open  statement  of  madame,  that  we 
should  not  oppose  her  judgment  in  this,  when  it  has  always 
been  true." 

"  Go,  then,"  said  Anna,  to  Ivan  Kostanzhoglo.  "  In  the 
saloon  you  will  find  our  visitor.  He  will  be  sitting  at  the 
table  in  the  right  hand  corner,  by  the  pillar  near  the  fire-? 
place.  He  is  young,  dark,  handsome.  You  cannot  mis- 
take him.  His  dress,  a  shabby  disguise  ;  yet  you  cannot 
fail  to  see  through  it  the  features,  the  figure  of  a  gentle- 
man." 

Ivan  rolled  another  cigarette,  and  left  the  room  through 
its  double  doorways,  which  was  guarded  until  his  return 
by  Ferrari.  • 

It  was  not  altogether  an  uncomfortable  'apartment, 
though  it  lacked  ventilation,  which  was  obtained  chiefly 
through  an  orifice  in  the  chimney,  where  a  strong  gaslight. 


352 


PY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 


was  burning,  and  around  which  there  was  a  continual  halo 
of  smo.ie  from  the  cigarettes  which  all,  including  Anna 
herself,  were  more  or  less  smoking.  There  were  a  few  odd 
engravings  upon  the  dark  wall-paper,  one  or  two  easy  chairs, 
a  small  book-case,  and  a  map  of  Europe. 

Anna  leaned  back  thoughtfully  in  her  chair,  and  breathed 
a  few  whifs  of  smoke  from  an  Egyptian  cigarette,  a  bundle 
of  which  lay  before  her.  She  pushed  these  aside  and  ceased 
smoking  as  Ivan  Kostanzhoglo  entered  with  Philip  Forsyth, 
who  was  indeed  disguised  in  shabby  habiliments ;  and  in 
face  and  feature  for  that  matter,  his  cheeks  pale  and  sunken, 
his  eyes  surrounded  with  a  black  rim,  his  hair  long  and 
straggly.  He-wore  a  pair  of  bluish  French  trousers  and  a 
thin  alpaca  frock-coat,  buttoned  to  the  throat ;  and  in  spile 
of  the  hot  weather  and  the  closeness  of  the  underground 
atmosphere,  he  looked  cold  and  chiily  ;  but  when  later  on 
he, spoke,  his  voice  was  strong  and  his  manner  expressed 
the  physical  strength,  which,  to  look  at  him,  you  would  not 
have  expected  him  to  possess. 

"  Brethren,"  said  Anna  Klosstock,  rising,  leaving  her 
seat,  and  taking  Philip  by  the  hand,  '*  this  is  our  English 
friend,  whose  heart  has  bled  for  the  miseries  of  our  country, 
who  is  anxious  to  join  our  brotherhood,  and  who  has  sworn 
the  first  oaih  of  secrecy."  ' 

'  Philip  looked  round  with  a  quiet  inquiring  gaze,  and 
then  fixed  his  eyes  upon  Anna  with  an  expression  of  aston- 
ishment. 

She  was  still  beautiful ;  but  it  was  the  beauty  of  the 
street  and  the  alley,  the  beauty  of  despair,  the  beauty  that 
shines  sadly  through  the  surroundings  of  rags  and  poverty. 

Her  figure  seemed  to  have  shrunk  into  her  thin,  shabby 
black  gown ;  and  the  shadow  that  fell  upon  her,  as  she 
stood  by  the  radiance  of  the  somewhat  dim  lamp  upon  the 
table,  gave  a  sombre  look  to  her  face  which  was  unusual 
in  Philip's  experience  of  its  varied  characteristics; 


Sy  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  353 

It  was  borne  in  upon  his  mind  that  it  lacked  even  the 
tragic  beauty  that  belonged  to  the  despairing,  defiant  face 
he  had  seen  at  the  opera  and  conveyed  to  his  canvas. 

"  Welcome,  brother,"  said  the  confederates,  one  after 
the  other,  as  they  shook  him  by  the  hand. 

*•  Be  i>-»?-ted,"  said  Ivan,  "  and  we  will  pledge  you  to  our 
better  acquaintance ; "  whereupon,  turning  to  the  little 
bookcase  and  opening  a  cupboard  beneath,  Ivan  brought 
forward  a  couple  of  bottles  of  red  wine,  opened  them,  and 
placed  glasses  upon  the  table. 

Philip  drank  in  a  mechanical  half-decided  way,  conscious, 
as  if  by  instinct,  that  something  was  about  to  take  place, 
hardly  in  keeping  with  those  heroic  aspirations  with  which 
he  had  credited  the  countess  and  her  confederates.  Not 
that  he  had  expected  anything  like  a  rose-leaf  council,  or 
a  carpet  conspiracy ;  but  there  was  something  in  the  change 
from  the  bright,  clean,  cheerful  saloon  of  the  little  Parisian 
Cabaret,  to  the  half-lighted,  dull,  prosaic,  double-locked 
apartment,  and  its  heavy-browed,  ill-dressed  occupants  that 
chilled  his  spirits,  and,  for  a  moment,  recalled  to  him  his 
unnatural  exile  from  his  mother  and  friends,  who  were  at 
that  moment,  so  close  to  him  and  yet  so  far  away.  But 
presently,  when,  unintentionally,  Ferrari  had  moved  the 
lamp  from  before  the  face  of  Anna  Klosstock,  in  such  a 
way  that  when  she  rose  it  illuminated  her  entire  figure,  the 
old  strange  infatuation  took  possession  of  him,  and  he 
listened  as  one  in  a  dream. 

"  Brethren,"  said  Anna,  rising  and  laying  down  the  cigar- 
ette which  she  had  still  held  between  her  fingers,  "  I  have 
to  report  to  you  the  result  of  the  brotherhood's  mission  at 
Venice  ;  and  for  the  information  of  our  visitor,  who  seeks 
for  weal  or  woe  to  be  our  comrade  in  the  great  cause  to 
which  we  are  pledged,  I  beg  you  to  permit  that  I  shall 
mention  one  of  the  motives  which  brought  us  originally 
t»^ether.     When  I  was  a  young  girl  I  lived  happy  and  con- 

'  23 


354 


BV  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 


tented  with  my  father,  who  was  the  principal  Jew  merchant 
of  Czarovna.  There  came  to  our  village  one  Losinski,  a 
young  learned  scholar,  who  was  appointed  Rabbi.  I  fell 
in  love  with  him,  he  with  me.  We  were  betrothed.  It  was 
the  eve  of  the  solemnization  of  our  marriage.  But  at  the 
height  of  Czarovna's  happiness  there  came  a  new  governor, 
General  Petronovitch,  and  with  him  the  wicked  risings 
against  the  Jews  with  sword  and  fire,  which  you  all  remem- 
ber, less  than  ten  years  ago.  This  governor  from  St.  Peters- 
burg was  a  sensualist,  a  tyrant  and  an  assassin.  He  found 
villainous  excuse  to  attack  our  house,  to  confiscate  my 
father's  estate,  to  send  him  to  that  living  death,  Siberia;  to 
seize  upon  the  young  and  learned  rabbi,  my  lover,  to  con- 
demn him  to  the  knout  Maddened  with  my  despair,  I 
sought  the  governor  at  his  palace,  a  suppliant  for  mercy. 
By  fair  promises  he  induced  lu  ^  for  a  moment  to  trust  him. 
The  crime  he  committed  against  me  was  one  worse  than 
death." 

Philip  Forsyth  felt  his  heart  stand  still.  He  clutched 
his  chair  and  pressed  his  feet  upon  the  floor  to  prevent 
himself  from  falling.  One  of  the  unnamed,  noticing  his 
trouble,  clutched  him  by  the  arm  and  pressed  wine  upon 
him  as  Anna  continued  her  narrative. 

"  The  next  day  I  witnessed  the  execution  of  Losinski, 
and  raising  my  voice  in  revolt  and  defiance,  excited  my 
people  of  the  ghetto  into  revolt.  In  the  midst  of  their 
attack  upon  the  fiendish  despot,  I  was  dragged  to  the  scaf- 
fold myself,  and  there  beaten  out  of  all  sensibility,  to  wake 
up  finally  in  the  hospital,  a  miserable  wreck,  with  sufficient 
life  still  left  to  swear  eternal  vengeance  upon  General 
Petronovitch,  the  only  effort  of  existence  left  to  me,  the 
one  red  spark  of  hope  in  my  eirthly  dungeon.  Sur^'y  it 
was  that  c  ie  hope  that  gave  me  life.  My  wounds  dressed 
with  salt — I  spare  you  even  a  single  word  about  the  physi- 
cal agony  I  suffered — I  began  to  recove"-,  anU  iv  v,'^  thought; 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE   CZAR.  355 

in  time  I  should  be  well  enough  to  undergo  a  continuation 
of  my  sentence  which  belonged  to  the  gaol  and  the  mine  : 
but  by  some  unaccountable  intervention  I  was  released 
and  carried  away  to  a  foreign  city.  There  was  one  great, 
good  friend  of  the  Jew,  who  lived  on  the  outskirts  of  Czar- 
ovna,  a  Russian  noble,  who  had,  under  pressure  of  ingrati- 
tude and  persecution  from  his  master,  joined  a  branch  of 
this  Brotherhood  of  the  Dawn." 

For  a  moment  the  speaker  paused  in  response  to  sup- 
pressed but  vigorous  tokens  of  approval. 

"  The  cause  and  the  Brotherhood  !  "  almost  shouted  one 
of  the  unnamed,  raising  his  glass  and  clinking  it  with  those 
of  his  neighbors. 

Philip  watched  the  woman  with  an  intent  gaze  of  wonder. 

"  His  name  was  Stravensky — the  Count  Stravensky.  He 
knew  my  father,  he  knew  me ;  saw  me  on  that  fatal  day, 
hurrying  to  the  traitor's  palace,  endeavored  to  interpose 
for  me  on  the  scaffold,  was  rebuffed,  and  ordered  to  his 
home.  His  wealth  and  his  early  services  to  the  Czar,  the 
greatness  of  his  family  name,  and  his  burning  desire  iox 
vengeance,  sent  him  to  St.  Petersburg,  where  he  resolved  to 
fight  his  way  diplomatically  to  place  and  position,  his  left 
hand  the  Emperor's,  his  right  hand  for  Russia.  It  was 
through  his  intervention  that  I  was  removed,  through  his 
intervention  that  I  was  reported  dead.  Thjt  was  the  only 
report  the  Government  would  accept ;  and  t.o  Anna  Kloss- 
tock  died.  In  a  few  years  there  arose  from,  that  moral 
death  a  new  woman.  Educated  in  Italy  by  scholars, 
tended  by  devoted  women  ;  with  what  object,  with  what 
ambition,  they  knew  not,  nor  did  I  for  a  time  half  suspect 
how  Fate  was  working  for  me.  Day  nbr  night  did  I  ever 
cease  to  pray  for  vengeance  upon  Petronovitch,  whose 
march  of  advancement  I  watched  with  a  smile  of  hate, 
noted  his  achievements  in  Central  Asia,  his  proud  conquests 
in  tlie  iield,  his  social  and  diplomatic  victories.    One  day 


3S6  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

there  came  for  me  a  messenger  from  ray  kind  patron.  I 
accompanied  madame  to  Paris.  There,  after  a  few  days  of 
fonnahty  and  instructions,  I  stood  by  the  bed  of  Count 
Stravensky,  was  made  his  wife,  and  received  from  him  the 
legacy  of  his  patriotic  aspirations,  and  his  last  benediction 
on  my  vow  of  vengeance.  They  only  knew  in  St.  Peters- 
burg that  the  count  had  married  a  cultured,  but  humble 
lady  of  Italy.  The  count  had  laid  his  plans  carefully  and 
well.  I  was  received  by  His  Majesty  the  Czar,  on  my  way 
to  deal  with  my  estates  in  Vilnavitch,  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Czarnova.  I  have  held  my  own,  I  hope,  as  the  Countess 
Stravensky,  never  forgetting  the  wrongs  of  Anna  Klosstock, 
the  pt  secution  of  the  Jews,  and  my  vows  to  this  brother- 
hood." 

Again  she  paused,  for  the  suppressed  demonstrations  of 
her  audience,  who,  much  as  they  had  seen  of  tragic  trouble 
and  romance,  were  carried  away  not  alone  with  Anna's 
story,  but  with  the  majesty  of  the  woman  as  she  narrated  it. 

Philip  still  sat  a  dumb  witne::s  ;  moved  by  deep  emotions, 
but  standing  apart,  as  it  were,  altogether  from  his  com- 
panions ;  listening  to  Anna's  story  from  a  different  stand- 
point, influenced  altogether  from  motives  they  could  neither 
follow  nor  understand. 

"  To  the  patient  and  the  true,  the  day  they  hope  for 
comes.  It  was  at  Venice,  two  weeks  ago.  You  remember 
some  of  you,  our  parting  here,  the  naming  of  our  rendez- 
vous for  Paul  Petroski,  for  Ferrari,  for  myself.  We  met 
again,  I  and  the  General  Petronovitch  ;  once  more,  as  the 
Countess  Stravensky,  Anna  Klosstock  again  had  the  honor 
to  find  favor  in  his  cruel  eyes.  Not  as  in  the  old  days  did 
she  struggle  to  be  free  from  that  cruel  evil  glance.  She 
invited  it,  sought  it,  courted  it  in  the  very  presence  of  his 
wife  ;  won  him  to  her  side,  as  Gretchen  might  have  won 
the  Fiend,  methinks,  had  she  desired.  I  beckoned ;  he- 
came.     I  tolerated  the  pressure  of  his  false  lips  upon  thi& 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  357 

hand — upon  this  hand  ! " — she  continued,  raising  her  right 
arm  aloft  and  clutching  her  fingers  as  if  she  held  a  dagger 
there — "  that  beckoned  him  to  his  death  !  " 

Amidst  the  general  gasp  of  satisfaction  which  welcomed 
Anna's  tragic  declaration,  Philip  covered  his  face  with  his 
hand.  • 

Anna  looked  at  him  for  the  first  time  during  her  con- 
fession. 

"  Does  anyone  doubt  my  right  to  the  vengeance  which 
has  thrust  the  dagger  of  the  Brotherhood  into  this  supreme 
wretch  ?     Let  him  look  upon  me  !  " 

Philip,  feeling  that  these  words  were  addressed  to  him, 
raised  his  head  and  again  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  speaker. 

*•  Let  him  know  why  I  am  a  Nihilist  of  the  Nihilists ! 
Let  him  behold  my  title  to  vengeance  !  " 

As  she  spoke  she  tore  open  her  dress,  exhibiting  a  lovely 
white  arm  and  part  of  a  beautiful  bust,  turning  at  the  same 
time  with  swift  rapidity  to  exhibit  her  right  shoulder  and 
her  neck,  no  further  than  is  considered  correct  by  ladies 
of  fashion  at  balls  and  in  the  opera  stalls,  but  sufficient  to 
thrill  iron  men  who  had  themselves  been  witnesses  of  the 
worst  of  Russian  tortures.  Red  and  blue,  deep  ridges  and 
welts  crossed  and  recrossed  each  other,  with  intervals  of 
angry  patches  of  red,  and  weird  daubs  of  grey  that  blurred 
and  blotted  out  all  remains  and  tokens  of  the  beautiful 
form  with  which  nature  had  endowed  one  of  its  loveliest 
creatures. 

Philip  looked,  and  fell  forward  upon  the  table  with  a  cry 
of  horror,  his  head  in  his  hands.  The  others  remained 
dead  still  for  a  few  seconds,  until  Ivan  Kostanzhoglo  rose 
quietly  from  his  seat,  replaced  the  torn  garment  over  the 
woman's  shoulders,  and  kissed  her  reverentially  upon  the 
forehead. 

As  Anna,  herself  much  overcome,  resumed  her  seat, 
Andrea  Ferrari  advanced  to  Philip  and  laid  his  hand  upon 
his  shoulder,  at  which  the  voung  fellow  looked  round. 


3s8  ^y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

"  Philip  Forsyth,"  said  Ferrari,  it  will  be  against  the 
wish  of  Anna  Klosstock  if  you  take  the  oath  that  will 
make  you,  body  and  soul,  one  of  us.  What  have  you  to 
say?" 

"  Nothing,"  he  replied.     "  Petronovitch  is  dead." 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

ONLY  A   WOMAN. 

Philip  Forsyth's  mad  infatuation  would  have  confirmed 
him,  as  Ferrari  put  it,  body  and  soul  a  member  of  the  Bro- 
therhood, but  for  the  persistent  opposition  of  the  Countess 
Stravensky.  If  Philip  did  not  take  the  final  oath  he  was, 
nevertheless,  accepted  as  an  auxiliary  of  the  association. 
It  was  only  for  conscience  sake  that  the  countess  resisted 
this  last  act  of  the  yovmg  artist's  wild  devotion.  As  she 
put  it  to  her  comrades,  he  was  sufficiently  their  ally  with- 
out completing  the  treaty  of  secrecy  and  service. 

Ferrari  saw  in  this  act  of  friendship,  not  to  say  love,  the 
first  sign  of  weakness  in  Anna's  character.  It  did  not 
occur  to  him  that  she  had  achieved  the  work  of  vengeance 
which  had  stimulated  and  held  together  her  alliance  with 
the.  Brotherhood. 

Since  the  Ghost  of  the  Lagoon  had  cast  its  lurid  shadow 
upon  Russian  despotism,  the  Countess  Stravensky  had 
found  little  room  in  her  heart  for  thoughts  and  feelings 
which  hitherto  had  been  engrossed  in  the  one  idea  of  her 
resurrection  from  death  and  torment  in  the  Czarovna 
hospital. 

On  the  eve  of  that  supreme  act  of  vengeance  in  the  Ve- 
petian  palace,  Anna  had  been  strangely  moved,  as  we  have 
already  seen,  by  the  infatuation  of  Philip  Forsyth ;  not 
so  much  on  his  account,  as  for  the  memories  which  it 
revived  of  her   happy  girlhood.     She  had  in  lonely  mo- 


BV  ORDER  OP  THE  CZAR.  359 

tnents  seen  in  this  boyish  love  of  the  English  artist  some- 
thing like  a  spiritual  resuscitation  of  the  youthful  Rabbi 
Losinski.  Her  thoughts,  which  for  years  had  only  gone 
back  to  the  village  of  Czarovna  with  shuddering  remem- 
brances of  its  tragic  overthrow,  now  found  opportunities 
for  contemplating  the  light  and  sweetness  which  preceded 
the  advent  of  the  Governor  Petronovitch.  She  had  per- 
mitted her  fancy  to  wander  back  to  the  great  house  at  the 
entrance  of  the  ghetto,  the  Jewish  celebrations  of  leaves 
and  flowers  and  harvest,  of  births  and  deaths,  of  religious 
institutions  and  customs.  She  saw  herself  a  child,  sitting 
at  her  mother's  knee,  and  weeping  at  her  mother's  grave  ; 
noted  how  quickly  in  her  infant  mind  this  later  memory 
had  mellowed  with  time  into  an  engrossing  affection  for 
her  father,  giving  her  almost  womanly  duties  in  her  girl- 
hood, and  oflfering  her  sympathies  towards  every  soul  in 
the  ghetto.  Even  on  the  first  day  of  her  arrival  to  fulfil 
w'.iat  to  her  was  a  sacred  mission  at  Venice,  she  had  sat 
for  hours  silently  in  her  red  gondola  dreaming  of  this  happy 
past  in  the  one  model  Jewish  village  of  that  great  Empire, 
where  the  fires  of  revolt  and  persecution  are  for  ever 
smouldering  with  threatening  and  awful  possibilities. 

Ferrari,  with  the  instinct  of  his  race  and  the  subtle  un- 
derstanding of  the  born  conspirator,  felt  that  Anna's 
sympathy  for  Philip  Forsyth  boded  no  good  to  the  cause. 
He  ventured  to  say  so,  both  to  Philip  and  to  Anna  her- 
self. 

Anna  answered  him  with  reference  to  the  successful 
incident  of  the  movement  with  which  she  had  been  asso- 
ciated ;  dwelt  upon  the  tremendous  sensation  that  had  been 
created  in  the  courts  of  Europe  by  the  vengeance  of  Venice  ; 
and  confessed  that  she  could  not  find  it  in  her  heart  to 
make  the  one  great  sacrifice  he  now  demanded  of  her,  to 
cast  off  Philip  Forsyth. 

"  If  I  could  cut  him  off  from  us,"  she  said,  *'  v»ith  the 
assurance  that  he  would  return  to  his  home  and  duty,  you 


^&»  Sy  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

might  count  upon  me.  But  il  his  misfortune  to  have  fallen 
under  some  strange  spell  which  we  possess." 

**  Which  you  possess,"  said  Ferrari. 

"  It  is  all  the  same,"  she  said.  "  My  mission,  he  claims, 
is  his  mission.  I  do  not  disguise  from  myself  that  he  v:. 
mad ;  but  I  find  in  his  companionship  a  strange  plea- 
sure." 

**  To  confess  which,"  said  Ferrari,  "  is  to  confess  that 
you  are  no  longer  true  to  the  Brotherhood." 

"  True  ! ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  Do  you  then  impeach  me  ? 
In  what  respect  am  I  untrue?" 

"  You  know,"  said  Ferrari,  "  that  you  are  the  first 
woman  I  have  trusted.  You  know  that  I  have  always  been 
opposed  to  confiding  our  section  of  the  Brotherhood  to 
the  constancy  of  a  woman." 

*'  In  which  you  are,"  said  the  countess,  "  illogical.  Was 
it  not  Sophie  Provskaya  who  gave  the  signal  for  Rysakovis 
attack  which  carried  off  the  emperor  you  most  hated  ?  " 

"  But  which,"  rejoined  Ferrari,  "you  most  condemn." 

"  I  ?  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  Have  you  not,"  he  said,  *'  changed  our  latest  pro- 
gramme ?  Have  you  not  more  than  once  declared  '  we 
are  conspirators,  but  not  assassins  ?  '  Have  you  not  repu- 
diated the  term  Nihilist,  as  it  is  applied  to  the  party  of 
revolution  and  reform  in  Europe?  " 

"For  a  foolish  word,"  she  said,  "which  does  not  in- 
terpret us  or  our  ambition.  Do  I  repudiate  the  rising  we 
hope  for?  Do  t  not  rejoice  in  the  coming  revolt  of  the 
army  ?  Do  I  not  glory  in  the  agrarian  fires  of  the 
peasant  ?  Do  I  pause  at  an  act  of  vengeance — a  life  for  a 
life  ?  Ask  me  to  rival  Sophie  Provskaya,  the  risk  of  my 
own  life  for  the  annihilation  of  a  thousand  Petronovitches, 
one  by  one  or  in  companies,  and  I  am  equal  to  the  occasion ; 
but  cast  me  for  a  dynamite  plot,  involving  the  lives  of 
innocent  people,  and  leading  to  no  political   result,  but 


BV  ORDER  OF  THE   CZAR.  36^ 

assuredly  to  be  followed  by  the  execution  of  some  of  om 
own  comrades,  and  I  resist  !  " 

"  But,"  said  Ferrari,  "  given  the  great  result,  given  the 
signal  for  a  general  upheaval,  for  the  rallying  of  the  great 
forces  of  revolution,  the  overthrow  of  a  vile  and  bloody 
tyranny,  the  establishment  of  a  constitution,  in  short,  foi 
the  fulfilment  of  the  great  and  glorious  programme  ofcon^ 
stitutional  liberty  and  national  freedom — what  then  ?  " 

"  Assure  me  of  this,  Ferrari,  and  I  am  with  you.  Assure 
me  that  we  may  hope,  in  one  great  sacrifice,  to  break  the 
Russian  chains,  and  at  the  same  time  to  bring  our  brothers 
and  sisters  to  the  promised  land,  flowing  with  milk  and 
honey,  and  I  am  with  you.  But  you  must  convince  me, 
Ferrari ;  otherwise,  dear  friend,  I  pause  with  the  victory 
of  Venice  :  and  could  I  forecast  the  end  of  all  for  me,  I 
would  ask  no  other  blessing  than  to  die  in  my  falhtr'a 
arms  away  in  his  Siberian  captivity.  Nay,  do  not  start, 
Ferrari  ;  I  could  say  this  to  no  other.  You  remember  the 
good,  generous,  kindly  merchant ;  the  devoted  father,  the 
staunch  friend,  the  martyr  ?" 

"Then  you  have  heard,"  said  Ferrari,  calmly,  ""from 
your  father  ?  " 

"Not  from  him  but  of  him,"  she  said,  a  melancholy 
smile  stealing  over  her  pale  features. 

'•The  despatch  you  received  in  Paris  ?"  said  Ferrari. 

"The  same.  It  came  through  the  Russian  Anibaa-; 
sador." 

•.  "The  one  secret  you  have  withheld  from  me,''  said  Fer- 
rari. 

.;"  Not  withheld,"  said  the  countess  "only  postponed. 
The  influence  of  the  Count  Stravensky,  my  dear  friend 
and  successor,  was  beneficial.  It  gave  my  father  means  ; 
it  secured  communication  with  Moscow  and  St. -I^eters-r 
burg.  Not  at  once  ?  Qh  no !  Jt  took  three  years  before 
l^iifif  of  ^ny  kind  cauje  tpihim  :,  four  years,  five  years,  sixr 


3^a  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

— and  to-day,  Ferrari,  he  is  in  his  own  peaceful  rooms  in 
an  agricultural  village  away  beyond  the  mountains,  tended 
by  a  Siberian  servant,  and  resigned,  waiting  for  the  end. 
As  you  so  long  regarded  him  as  dead  to  me,  as  I  have  so 
long  accepted  that  position,  so  he  has  regarded  us, — dead 
Ferrari,  dead  !  If  I  should  see  him  again  it  would  be  a 
foretaste  of  Paradise  for  him,  for  me  perhaps." 

"It  is  this  romantic  attachment  of  yours  to  Forsyth  that 
has  unnerved  you." 

*'  Then  I  thank  him  for  it,  on  my  knees,  Ferrari.  If  he 
has  delighted  that  human  lamp  within  my  breast  which 
shows  me  the  past  in  the  present,  what  humanly  I  was, 
then  thank  God,  Ferrari,  for  his  interposition." 

**  So  it  do  not  cast  its  betraying  light  upon  the  forth- 
coming enterprise  of  the  Brotherhood,  I  am  willing  to  say 
*  Amen  *  to  that.  I  can  find  in  my  own  heart,  Anna 
Klosstockj  one  drop  of  patience,  when  I  remember  thr.t  it 
was  I  who  brought  down  upon  your  father's  house  the 
hand  of  persecution  and  murder  ;  that  it  wias  I  who  made 
the  trail  of  death,  of  the  sword  and  fire  which  the  Chris- 
tian friends  followed  to  the  peaceful  streets  of  the  Czar- 
ovna  settlement." 

"  You  have  had  your  revenge,  Ferrari,  and  I  mine." 

"  No,  no,  my  sister.  I  have  no  love-tokens  of  the  past, 
no  young  English  woman  to  revive  it  if  I  had.  My  ven- 
geance is  never  complete.  No  woman  can  come  between 
me  and  my  oath,  between  me  and  my  righteous  ambition, 
between  me  and  my  sacred  duty,  as  Philip  Forsyth  comes 
between  me  and  yours." 

"  I  will  not  have  it  so,  Ferrari ;  and  I  claim  your  firm 
and  faithful  allegiance  to  me,  an  allegiance  not  of  oaths  or 
vows,  but  of  mutual  suffering  arid  ritiutual  wrong.  If  it  has 
pleased  our  Father  Abraham  that  in  this  alliance  of  ours 
the  woman  at  last  shall  be  weaker  than  the  man,  do  not 
blame  rae.     Judge  of  me  in  the  future  as  you  have  known 


fiV  ORDF.K  OF  THE  CZA/t,  363 

me  In  the  past,  but  do  not  ask  for  the  impossible  ;  do  not 
ask  for  a  destroying  angel  in  a  mere  woman  of  the  people  j 
do  not  ask  for  the  spiritual  in  the  mortal ;  do  not  ask  for 
a  miracle — I  am  only  a  woman  !  " 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

DICK  CHETWYND  SAYS  "  I  WILL." 

Ferrari's   instinct   was   true.     His  judgment    of  Anna 
Klosstock  was  confirmed  by  results. 

It  needed  no  traitor  in  the  camp  to  frustrate  the  opera- 
tions which  took  him  and  Anna  and  the  rest  by  the  various 
routes  to  St.  Petersburg.  The  mainspring  of  the  move- 
ment was  altered.  It  was  a  question  of  nerve.  Ferrari 
had  detected  it.  There  had  been  no  secrets  between  him 
and  Anna  until  her  previous  visit  to  London,  when  Philip 
Forsyth  crossed  her  path  ;  but  he  had  been  reassured, 
touching  any  fears  he  might  have  experienced  in  Anna's 
confession  of  deep  interest  in  Philip,  by  her  magnificent 
campaign  of  strategy  and  vengeance  on  the  Grand  Canal. 
Her  outbreak  of  emotional  memories,  however,  on  the  eve 
of  the  Brotherhood's  united  action  in  St.  Petersburg,  had, 
as  we  have  seen  in  the  previous  chapter,  shaken  his  faith 
in  the  mental  and  physical  strength  of  his  amazonian  asso- 
ciate. But  there  was  no  course  of  check  open  to  him  in 
regard  to  the  Nihilistic  advance.  All  he  could  do  in  the 
way  of  strengthening  the  outposts,  guards  and  sentinels 
of  the  conspiracy,  he  carried  out  with  firm  exactitude.  He 
hoped  to  have  kept  the  action  clear  from  any  association 
with  what  Anna  called  her  auxiliary  aid,  Philip  Forsyth, 
who  traveled  in  her  company  to  St.  Petersburg,  the  Coun- 
tess Stravensky's  private  secretary^  vice  for  the  time  being 
Ferrari  resigned. 


364  ^y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

.  Hel-  Italian  comrade  passed  into  Russia  through  a 
different  port,  and  in  one  of  his  most  comi)lete  disguises. 
The.  countess  and  her  maid,  accompanied  by  Philip  and  a 
courier,  went  openly  to  St.  Petersburg,  where  the  young 
artist  was  duly  introduced  into  the  highest  society  by  his 
illustrious  patroness.  Her  visit  was  understood  to  be 
simply  one  of  rest  and  social  duty,  en  route  for  the  scene 
of  her  husband's  estates,  whither  some  business  of  charity 
called  her.  Within  a  few  days  of  her  arrival  she  set  out 
for  the  interior,  or  was  understood  to  have  done  so  ;  but 
What  happened  was  an  enterprise  of  an  entirely  different 
character 

The  countess  made  her  adieux,  and  disappeared  from 
society  and  the  world  of  St.  Petersburg,  prior  to  taking 
her  place  in  the  ranks  of  the  Brotherhood,  accompanied 
by  Philip  in  a  disguise  which  she  had  prepared  for  him  ; 
but  not  before  conjuring  him  to  leave  her  and  her  as- 
sociates to  return  home,  while  he  could  return  safe  to  his 
family  and  friends.  But  Philip  had  only  one  negative  re- 
ply to  all  her  warning,  and  in  some  strange,  unaccount-  - 
able  way,  the  woman  who  had  been  for  years  the  com- 
panion of  strong  men  bound  together  by  patriotic  oaths 
and  emotions  of  revenge,  found  the  infatuation  which  she 
exercised  upon  the  voluntary  young  exile  from  London 
reflected  back  upon  herself.  She  tried  to  think  that  fate 
had  given  to  her  the  comfort  of  his  companionship  as 
some  sort  of  recompense  for  past  sufferings  ;  that  fortune, 
perhaps,  had  placed  him  by  her  side  as  a  new  human  im- 
pulse, an  added  arm  in  the  great  work  which,  Ferrari 
assured  her,  would  be  the  signal  for  the  coming  milleniura 
of  their  race  and  the  overthrow  of  the  Colossus  of  Despot- 
ism which  threatened  to  bestride  the  civilized  world. 

Ferrari  had  of  late  over  and  over  again  expounded  to 
Anna  Kldsstock  (in  whom;  after  all,  his  hopes  of  success 
in  the  latest  enterprise  of  his  career  were  centred)  the  tre- 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  365 

mendous  growth  of  the  revolutionary  strength  in  Russia 
which  had  taken  place  under  the  new  Czar  Alexander 
III. 

While  admitting  the  numerically  small  numbers  of  the 
organizing  and  executive  forces,  Ferrari  had  shown  Anna, 
by  documentary  and  other  evidence,  the  vast  extension  of 
the  movement  towards  which  they  occupied  the  van  :  and 
while  receiving  in  secret  conclave  the  reports  of  the 
advance  which  was  being  made  right  through  the  military 
services,  they  both  chiefly  rejoiced  in  the  prospects  of 
the  propaganda  among  the  peasants,  who  had  in  many 
districts  and  under  more  or  less  authoritative  encourage- 
ment, worked  their  will  upon  the  Jews,  but  had  of  late 
entered  into  secret  agrarian  alliances  with  their  Semitic 
fellow-citizens  against  the  nobles  and  landed  proprietors. 

Jews  throughout  the  provinces  most  in  sympathy  with 
the  holy  cause  had  been  welcomed  into  secret  societies  ; 
and  it  was  set  forth  in  a  recent  important  work  by 
Tikhomirov  that  one  of  the  great  significant  facts  of  the 
moment  was  a  definite  transition  of  anti-Semitic  into  agra- 
rian troubles. 

The  people,  finding  it  difficult  to  form  peasant  parties, 
had  organized  secret  societies,  one  of  which,  having  wide 
and  powerful  ramifications,  had  contributed  a  new  brother 
t  J  the  Ferrari  organization. 

Everything  looked  well  and  promising  for  the  first  signal 
of  revolt,  which,  being  made  in  St.  Petersburg,  was  to  act 
as  a  beacon-fire  over  a  wide  and  extensive  district  of  out- 
posts, military,  civil,  and  agrarian,  in  which  many  classes| 
official  and  othenvise,  were  engaged. 

The  train  was  laid.  It  was  the  patriotic  duty  of  Ferrari 
and  his  confederates  to  light  the  match  which  should  bring 
about  that  great  popular  rising  which  is  the  hope  and 
purpose  of  the  great  popular  movement  throughout  the 
Empire.  . 


366  BY  ORDER   OF  THE   CZAR. 

On  the  day  which  was  to  bring  about  such  great  results 
St.  Petersburg  was  unusually  gay,  and  to  a  stranger  it 
might  even  have  seemed  as  if,  for  the  time  being,  both 
military  and  police  had  made  some  special  relaxation  in 
their  discipline  and  duties  of  surveillance. 

But  everything  in  St.  Petersburg  is  more  or  less  myste- 
rious. No  man  can  account  for  the  under-current,  which 
ebbs  and  flows  and  rushes  hither  and  thither  beneath  the 
surface  of  its  ordinary  life.  It  is  a  calm  sea,  that  flows 
insidiously  above  jutting  rocks,  moving  sands,  and  danger- 
ous eddies. 

The  police  of  Russia  are  as  secret  as  the  Revolutionists. 
Both  are  as  active  ;  and  on  this  momentous  occasion,  the 
authorities,  instead  of  having  relaxed  their  watchful  guar- 
dianship over  the  Imperial  power,  were  especially  lynx- 
eyed,  well  informed,  and  alert,  as  was  only  too  completely 
manifested  to  the  little  band  of  conspirators  under  the 
leadership  of  Andrea  Ferrari. 

It  is  a  rare  occurrence  in  open  daylight  for  the  police 
to  disturb  the  citizens  by  an  important  arrest.  These 
operations  are  generally  reserved  for  the  stillness  and 
repose  of  the  night ;  but  on  this  busy  sunny  day  a  little 
troop  of  police  and  military  were  taking  very  devious  routes 
outside  the  leading  thoroughfares,  quietly  surrounded  a 
house  near  the  Tavreda  Gardens,  which  had  been  for  four 
and  twenty  hours  under  the  eye  of  an  astute  detective  force. 
The  result  was  one  of  much  greater  importance  to  St. 
Petersburg  and  the  Czar  than  his  officers  understood.  It 
prevented  the  ignition  of  that  train  of  fire  which  had  been 
laid  with  so  much  skill  and  patience  ;  and  it  added  to 
Russia's  political  prisoners,  among  others  in  whom  the 
readers  of  this  history  are  interested,  Anna  Klosstock, 
Andrea  Ferrari,  Philip  Forsyth,  Ivan  Kostanzhoglo,  and 
Paul  Petroski.  Fortunately,  so  far  as  their  immediate  ex- 
istence was  concerned,  the  plot,  as  it  presented  itself  to 


By  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  3«y 

the  police,  was  of  a  minor  character ;  presenting  under 
their  investigation  none  of  those  grave  and  serious  features 
which  really  belonged  to  it,  and  like  many  another  revolu- 
tionjtry  enterprise  in  Russia,  it  was  nipped  in  the  bud 
without  exciting  any  particular  attention.  It  formed,  how- 
ever, during  several  weeks  an  interesting  political  subject 
in  the  hands  of  an  English  correspondent  attached  to  a 
great  London  journal,  and  it  was  through  this  medium 
that  Lady  Forsyth  and  Dick  Chelwynd  became  acquainted 
with  the  unhappy  position  of  the  Countess  'Stravensky's 
companion. 

The  newspaper  correspondent  informed  the  English 
public  that  among  the  prisoners  recently  tried  and  con- 
demned to  a  period  of  exile  in  Siberia,  was  a  young 
Englishman  who,  having  first  given  an  assumed  name  to 
his  captors,  had  confessed  that  he  was  Philip  Forsyth, 
an  artist,  of  London,  a  student  at  the  Royal  Academy,  the 
son  of  an  eminent  engineer,  who  had  lived  and  died  in 
Russia,  leaving  behind  a  son,  Philip,  and  his  mother,  Lady 
Forsyth,  a  widow,  of  London.  The  younp;  f^Ucw,  said  the 
correspondent,  had  no  doubt  given  thesf,  particulars  in  the 
hope  of  some  intervention  on  the  part  of  his  family.  The 
plot  with  which  he  was  associated  was  not  regarded  as 
of  any  very  great  importance  by  the  authorities,  except 
that  it  compelled  them  to  make  an  example  of  the  persons 
concerned,  one  of  whom,  an  Italian  Jew,  named  Ferrari, 
having  strangled  his  sister,  had  succeeded  in  committing 
suicide  in  prison  j  another,  Ivan  Kostanzhoglo,.  was  sen- 
tenced to  lifelong  imprisonment ;  a  third,  Paul  Petroski,  to 
^  short  period  of  detention ;  and  a  fourth,  a  remarka- 
bly handsome  woman,  who  having,  as-  in  the  case  of  the 
English  artist,  given  at  the  outset  a  false  name,  had  con- 
fessed under  pressure  that  she  was  Anna  Klosstock,  and 
that  the  object  of  her  association  with  Ferrari  afid  the  rest 
^  the  confederacy  lay  chiefly  in  the  hope  that  she  migh^ 


^  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAk, 

be  sent  to  Siberia  to  join  Her  father.  It  appeared  that 
during  the  risings  against  the  Jews  some  ten  years  pre- 
viously, this  woman's  father  had  been  sentenced  to  exile, 
which  had  been  considerably  modified  under  official  influ- 
ence, that  she  had  lived  a  wandering  life,  thinking  he  was 
dead;  but  having  been  in  the  service  of  the  Countess 
Stravensky  two  years  previously  in  Paris^  she  had  dis- 
covered that  her  mistress  had  already  interested  herself  on 
behalf  of  her  father,  and  had  procured  him  some  concessions 
in  regard  to  punishment. 

The  story  was,  the  correspondent  stated,  a  curious 
romance  in  its  way,  seeing  that  the  countess  had  exercised 
her  influence  in  favor  of  the  girl's  father  before  Anna 
Klosstock  herself  came  into  her  service.  Amongst  the 
few  papers  discovered  on  the  occasion  of  their  arrest,  was 
a  letter  from  the  Countess  Stravensky  which  had  been 
found  in  the  prisoner's  possession,  bearing  out  in  various 
details  the  story  of  the  woman's  life.  The  police  had 
made  a  special  effort  to  receive  endorsement  of  this  from 
the  countess  herself,  but  had  been  unable  to  find  her.  She 
had  passed  through  St.  Petersburg  only  a  few  days  pre- 
viously, to  the  neighborhood  of  Czarovna,  in  the  pro- 
vince of  Vilnavitch,  where  her  husband,  the  count,  had 
formerly  resided,  and  no  doubt  in  due  course  the  police 
would  hear  from  her  laydship. 

In  the  meantime,  however,  the  judge  t^ ok  a  lenient  view- 
of  Anna  Klosstock's  case,  and  he  more  or  less  benevolently 
sentenced  to  Siberia ;  and  it  is  understood  that  by  the 
order  of  the  Czar,  who  has  taken  some  personal  ititerest 
in  these  arrests,  she  will  be  permitted  to  join  her  exiled 
father,  * 

The  news  of  Philip's  arrest  and  conviction  created  a 
profound  sensation  in  London.  Not  a  moment  was  lost 
in  bringing  to  bear  such  influence  as  Lady  Forsyth  and 
heclriends  possessed  upon  the  Foreign  Office  to  put  the 


BY  ORDER   OF  THE   CZAR.  369 

English  Minister  in  communication  with  the  Government 
in  St.  Petersburg,  but  the  most  practical  and  important 
action  was  discussed  and  decided  upon  in  family  council 
at  Dorset-square. 

"  Yes,  certainly,  Dick,"  said  Mrs.  Chetwynd,  "  you  arc 
right ;  it  is  the  only  thing  to  be  done." 

"  I  know  the  country,"  said  Dick,  **  but  it  is  a  serious 
undertaking." 

"  All  great  enterprises  are  serious,"  said  his  wife. 

"  Every  possible  influence  that  is  to  be  got,  of  course,  I 
can  procure,"  said  Dick,  thrusting  his  hands  deep  into  his 
pockets  and  pacing  the  little  breakfast-room,  where  the 
principal  morning  papers  had  been  flung  down  after 
perusal ;  the  leading  journal,  however,  still  in  Mrs.  Chet- 
wynd's  hands. 

"  It  will  be  a  great  sacrifice  to  make  for  both  of  us,  Dick. 
If  you  had  not  traveled  on  far  more  dangerous  missions  I 
believe  I  would  not  let  you  think  of  it." 

"  It  will  be  a  costly  service,  too,"  said  Dick,  "  not  only 
as  regards  time  but  money.  I  think  I  know  the  Foreign 
Secretary  in  St.  Petersburg,  and  my  decoration  at  the  hands 
of  the  late  Emperor  should  serve  me.  It  is  a  good  thing 
for  Philip  that  I  happen  to  be  commissioned  to  the  Russian 
instead  of  the  Turkish  head-quarters." 

Dick  walked  about  and  soliloquized,  half  responding  to 
his  wife's  remarks,  partly  to  his  own  reflections. 

"  Besides,  you  are  lucky,  Dick.  I  do  not  think  in  all 
your  career  you  have  ever  made  a  serious  mistake — not 
even  when  you  married  me." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Dick,  taking  her  genial  face  between 
his  hands  and  kissing  her  heartily,  "  the  only  danger  of  my 
life  was  the  possibility  of  ever  missing  the  good  chance 
that  brought  us  together;  and  I  have  never  made  a 
mistake  except  when  I  have  not  acted  upon  your  advice." 
.  .**  Dick,   my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Chetwynd,  firmly,  "  you 

24 


370  BY  ORDER   OF  THE   CZAR, 

must  go  to  Russia,  and  bring  that  foolish  boy  home  to  his 
mother.'* 
"  I  will,"  said  Dick. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

ON  THE  ROAD  TO  SIBERIA. 

Fortunately  for  Dick  Chetwynd's  mission  he  was  no 
stranger  to  St.  Petersburg,  and  he  had  had  some  experience 
of  official  life  in  Russia,  during  both  peace  and  war.  He 
knew  the  value  of  English  introductions,  and  how  most 
effectively  to  use  Russian  gold. 

Notwithstanding  the  supposed  continual  strain  of  the 
diplomatic  relationships  of  the  two  countries,  and  the  tra- 
ditional hostility  of  international  interests,  Dick  Chetwynd 
had  full  confidence  in  the  courteous  and  friendly  reception 
which  he  would  receive  at  headquarters. 

From  the  Czar  down  to  the  humblest  Russian  official,  an 
Englishman  properly  accredited  and  backed  by  traveled 
experience  and  worldly  knowledge,  may  rely  upon  court- 
eous treatment. 

No  official  is  more  polite  thah  the  Russian  under  the 
influence  of  a  stranger's  authoritative  indorsement. 

It  is  true  that  Chetwynd  met  with  minor  obstructions 
and  delays  which  easily  gave  way  to  major  tips  and  con- 
siderations; but  in  presence  of  the  great  masters  of 
authority,  with  his  letters  from  the  English  Prime  Minister, 
the  Russian  Embassy  in  London,  and  other  documentary 
powers,  he  found  his  path  both  smooth  and  pleasant.  In- 
deed it  was  with  some  difficulty  that  he  succeeded  in  pro- 
ceeding on  his  journey  with  anything  like  a  gracious  refusal 
of  the  many  social  invitations  he  received  as  tributes  to 
his  own  personal  charm  of  manner  as  well  as  to  his  re- 
markable official  introductions.     Moreover,  the  fact  that 


BY  ORDER   OF  THE  CZAR,  371 

as  a  war  correspondent  he  had  chronicled  in  one  of  the 
leading  English  newspapers  the  triumphs  of  the  Russian 
arms  on  a  great  campaign,  and  had  been  honored  with  the 
personal  recognition  of  His  late  Majesty  after  a  certain 
famous  battle,  made  him  a  persona  grata  in  the  brilliant 
Russian  capital. 

Having  discovered  that  Philip  Forsyth  was  one  of  the 
prisoners  en  route  for  Siberia,  under  the  command  of  Cap- 
tain Karakazov,  and  in  all  probability  only  despatched 
some  few  weeks  previously  from  Moscow,  he  made  rapid 
dispositions  for  prosecuting  his  journey.  In  the  meantime 
he  wrote  encouraging  letters  full  of  good  assurance  of  his 
own  safety  to  his  wife  and  of  hopeful  prospects  to  Philip^s 
mother. 

What  surprised  Chetwynd  more  than  anything  during 
his  investigations  at  St.  Petersburg,  was  the  utter  and 
complete  disappearance  of  the  Countess  Stravensky. 

The  Assistant  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs,  a  singularly 
well-informed  and  courteous  gentleman,  who  from  being 
reticent  at  the  beginning  of  their  interview  became  almost 
loquacious  at  its  close,  assured  him  that  there  was  no  doubt 
about  the  complicity  of  the  Countess  Stravensky  in  the 
recent  plot.  The  police  were  engaged  in  unra'  ling  her 
career.  It  was  believed  that  ever  since  her  remarkable 
marriage  with  the  Count  Stravensky,  one  of  the  Govern- 
ment's most  devoted  servants,  she  had  been  mixed  up  in 
the  Russian  propaganda.  If  this  were  so,  the  countess 
had  conducted  her  affairs  with  great  skill  and  daring.  She 
had  received  complimentary  recognition  from  the  Russian 
Court,  and  indeed  had  been  almost,  in  certain  social  di- 
rections, an  accredited  agent,  and  was  certainly  regarded 
as  a  friend  to  the  reigning  family.  She  had  been  received 
at  the  Russian  Court,  and  was  a  distinguished  personage 
in  the  highest  Russian  circles ;  but  within  the  last  few 
months  the  police  had  discovered  what  they  considered  to 


37a  BY  ORDER  OF  THE   CZAR. 

be  a  clue  to  her  association  with  some  of  the  worst  enemies 
of  Russia,  and  indeed,  they  believed  she  was  an  accom- 
plice irl  the  murder  of  General  Petronovitch  at  Venice, 
■^  /  f  present  tliese  charges  were  indefinite,  and  might 
possibly  be  difficult  of  proof ;  but  they  were  considered  to 
be  strongly  exemplified  by  the  strange  disappearance  of 
the  countess  from  Russia.  She  had  arrived  in  St.  Peters- 
burg some  few  days  before  the  failure  of  the  latest 
dynamite  plot,  had  observed  the  usual  polite  ceremonies  of 
the  Court,  had  been  seen  at  the  opera,  and  was  a  guest  at 
a  semi-official  reception  on  the  night  before  the  nefarious 
scheme  of  the  Propagandists  was  to  have  been  consum- 
mated. From  that  moment  there  was  no  trace  of  her. 
She  had  disappeared  as  completely  as  if  she  had  never 
existed.  And  the  complete  system  of  espionage  that 
belonged  to  the  police  had  failed  to  come  upon  the  slight- 
est clue  ;  the  telegraph  had  flashed  inquiries  and  descrip- 
tions in  every  direction  throughout  Europe,  but  without 
result.  They  had  hoped  that  the  young  Englishman,  the 
prisoner  Forsyth,  Would  have  been  able  to  throw  some  light 
upon  her  proceedings  and  habits.  Had  he  been  a  Rus- 
sian subject  it  was  possible  that  more  than  the  ordinary 
pressure  would  have  been  exercised  to  obtain  confessions 
from  him  ;  but  he  probably  spoke  the  truth  when  he  said 
that  he  did  not  know  what  had  become  of  her,  and  he  did 
not  disguise  for  a  moment  that  he  had  traveled  with  her 
from  Venice  to.  Paris,  from  Paris  to  New  York,  from  New 
York  to  Havre,  thenc'e  to  St.  Petersburg.  Indeed,  there 
would  have  been  no  object  in  his  denying  this,  because 
one  of  the  so-called  Brotherhood  oi'  the  Dawn  had  con- 
jfessed  it.  ' 

'^^ Under   pressure?"   asked  Chetwynd,  accepting  the 
cigarette  which  the  Assistant  Minister  had  politely  offered 
liim. 
•  "Probably,**  said  the  official. 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR,  375 

"You  have  severe  measures  in  this  direction,  I  know," 
said  Chetwynd,  "and  I  am  deeply  grateful  for  the  con- 
sideration which  has  been  shown  to  my  friend." 

"  You  have  reason  to  be  so,  I  think,  from  all  I  under- 
stand," said  the  official.  '*  We  are  talking  in  confidence, 
but  it  may  help  you  to  a  better  understanding  of  my 
Imperial  Master  when  I  tell  you  that  it  was  by  order  of  the 
Czar  that  Forsyth's  sentence  was  commuted  to  imprison- 
ment ;  by  order  of  the  Czar,  not  in  response  to  any 
diplomatic  intervention,  but  out  of  consideration  for  his 
youth  and  his  evident  simplicity,  and  the  fact  that  he  was 
a  young  English  gentleman." 

Chetwynd  was  duly  inipressed  with  the  consideration 
shown  to  him  and  his  country,  and  on  taking  leave  of  the 
Assistant  Minister  expressed  in  a  general  way  regret  that 
England  and  Russia  did  not  better  understand  each  other 
than  appeared  to  be  the  case  in  the  opinion  of  leading 
Russians  and  some  prominent  Englishmen,  and  hoped  the 
timef  might  come  when  the  boundary  line  of  their  mutual 
ambitions  in  Central  Asia  might  be  drawn  with  a  severe 
and  firrti  regard  for  the  world's  peace  and  happiness. 
Arrived  at  Moscow,  he  succeeded  in  finding  his  way  to 
the  penaJ  establishment  at  Sparrow  Hills,  where  the  young 
English  artist  had  rested  with  his  fellow-prisoners  en  route 
for  Siberia. 

It  was  at  this  very  spot  where  Philip,  as  a  boy,  had  seen 
the  band  of  exiles  mustered  and  marched  out,  as  mentioned 
by  him  to  Chetwynd  during  his  artistic  inspirations  at 
Primrose  Hill  in  the  English  metropolis.  The  place  was 
probably  very  much  in  the  same  condition  when  Chetwynd 
became  acquainted  with  it,  as  it  was  in  the  days  of  Philip's 
fethef,  and  as  it  had  been  when  Mr.  Bremner,  quoted  by 
the  author  of  "Stories  from  Russia,"  visited  it  thirty 
years  previously. 

Chetwynd  found  no  difficulty  in  visiting  the  prison  and 
witnessing  an  exodus. 


374  ^y  OR:DER   01-    THE   CZAR. 

On  the  next  day  the  governor,  a  courteous  official  whose 
heart  had  not  been  hardened  under  his  melancholy  ex- 
periences, accompanied  him  in  the  early  autumn  morning^ 
not  to  the  great  fortress,  but  to  a  series  of  strong  barrack- 
like buildings,  surrounded  by  a  high  wall,  not  of  a  very 
powerful  defensive  character,  but  carefully  guarded  by 
numerous  sentinels. 

The  governor  conversed  pleasantly  in  French,  and  rolled 
perpetual  cigarettes  ;  advising  Dick  also  to  smoke  during 
their  round  of  the  penal  institution. 

The  broad  courtyard  was  already  occupied  by  a  large 
company  of  prisoners,  each  fettered  by  the  ankles,  not  with 
heavy  chains,  but  sufficiently  galling,  alas,  for  a  general 
march  of  little  short  of  six  months  to  the  dreary  wilds  of 
Eastern  or  Western  Siberia  They  included  men  and 
women,  the  former  in  the  usual  convict's  dress,  a  long 
loose  coat  of  coarse  grey  cloth,  the  latter  in  thick  woollen 
dresses  with  a  kind  of  cape  or  shawl  fastened  about  their 
shoulders  and  another  over  their  heads,  worn  very  much  in 
the  manner  of  a  Lancashire  operative.  A  portion  of  their 
route,  the  governor  informed  Dick,*would  be  made  by  river, 
in  enormous  barges  upon  which  were  constructed  prison 
cages,  where  the  men  and  women  were  separated,  but  by  road 
they  travel  in  bands  together.  It  was  true,  he  said,  that  some 
died  by  the  way,  and  that  political  prisoners  who  could 
afford  it  were  permitted  to  ride  and  also  to  take  with  them 
baggage  and  their  families,  many  of  whom  lived  after  some 
years  of  severe  discipline  in  a  comparatively  free  and  com- 
fortable mai»>ner.  He  admitted  that  there  were  exceptions^ 
but  hoped  that  the  exile  in  whom  Chetwynd  was  taking 50 
deep  an  interest  might  be  one  of  those  favored  persons. 
It  was  not  often,  he  said,  that  an  Englishman  was  included 
among  the  exiles  to  Siberia,  but  during  the  last  few  years 
many  foreigners  had  interested  themselves  unduly  in  Rus- 
sian politics.     Fanatics  from  Italy,  France  and  Germany, 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  375 

calling  themselves,  he  believed,  Socialists  and  Regenerators 
.of  the  World,  and  once  in  a  way  the  police  had,  he  under- 
stood, to  pjiy  their  polite  attentions  to  some  English  ally  of 
the  revolutionists.  He  could  not  understand  why  England, 
having  so  many  political  and  social  difficulties  of  her  own 
to  attend  to,  should  take  so  much  interest  at  it  appeared 
she  did  in  the  internal  affairs  of  Russia.  Possibly,  as  Mr. 
Chetwynd  confessed,  this  young  English  gentleman,  Mr. 
Philip  Forsyth,  had  been  led  away  by  the  fascinations  of 
the  Countess  Stravensky,  whose  disaffection  to  the  Govern- 
ment had  been  as  great  a  surprise  as  was  her  sudden  and 
extraordinary  disappearance. 

Many  of  the  band  starting  upon  their  awful  journey  had 
favors  and  privileges  to  ask,  which  in  some  cases  were 
granted  and  in  others  refused,  but  on  the  whole  the  men 
and  women  seemed  to  be  treated,  at  least  at  this  stage  of 
their  trials,  with  a  certain  amount  of  sympathy,  particularly 
on  the  part  of  the  governor  whenever  he  was  addressed 
or  his  intervention  was  invited  by  subordinate  officers. 

At  the  same  time  when  the  gates  were  thrown  open, 
the  strong  military  guard  on  foot  made  a  formidable  show, 
each  man  loading  his  weapon  in  presence  of  the  prisoners. 

Part  of  the  escort  was  mounted,  carrying  long  spears  ; 
they  were  probably  Cossacks,  and  in  the  experience  of 
Mr.  Bremner,  previously  quoted,  the  commanders  of  this 
light  cavalry  were  in  the  habit  of  using  the  poor  creatures 
with  unchecked  cruelty,  riding  furiously  about  among 
them,  striking  them  right  and  left  with  their  strong  whips, 
without  any  reason  for  their  activity,  just  as  brutal  drovers 
might  among  their  cattle. 

On  this  occasion  the  men  were  banded  together  apart 
from  the  women,  but  Chetwynd  noticed  a  far  better  dis- 
position than  Mr.  Breniijer  had  noted  in  the  treatment  of 
the  exiles  who  marched  out  under  his  observation  ;  but 
he  restrained  his  tears  with  some  difficulty,  when  the  gates 


376  ^y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

were  closed  and  he  heard  the  melancholy  tramp  and  clank 
of  irons  in  which  his  imagination  easily  depicted  his  un- 
happy young  friend. 

In  the  interior  of  the  prison  he  found  most  of  the  men 
and  women  unfettered,  but  the  governor  informed  him 
that  on  the  next  day  he  might  witness,  if  he  remained,  the 
riveting  of  their  chains.  At  the  same  time  it  occurred  to 
the  officer  to  suggest  that  these  poor  creatures  were  more 
to  blame  than  the  Government.  Some  of  them  were 
criminals  of  a  bad  type  ;  others  were  political  criminals, 
little  better,  except  that  in  most  cases  they  hid  been  well 
nurtured,  and  were  educated  men  and  women  who  had 
been  too  wise  to  accept  and  obey  the  laws  under  which 
they  lived.  He  refused  to  accept  for  a  moment  Chet- 
wynd's  suggestion  that  many  political  prisoners  in  Russia 
were  probably  misunderstood,  some  unduly  and  unfairly 
punished  on  unfounded  and  occasionally  manufactured  evi- 
dence. Justice  might  make  mistakes,  the  governor  said, 
and  did  no  doubt  in  all  countries,  but  he  begged  Mr. 
Chetwynd  not  to  forget  that  the  late  Emperor  had  been 
murdered  in  the  streets,  and  that  plots  of  the  most  diabo- 
lical character  had  been  successful,  while  others  which 
threatened  the  lives  of  innocent  people  had  been  prevent- 
ed by  the  activity  of  the  Government. 

Chetwynd  had  to  confess  to  his  distinguished  escort 
that  these  questions  seemed  to  be  more  openly  discussed 
in  Russia  than  he  had  believed  possible ;  but  at  the  same 
time  he  was  fain  to  regard  the  frankness  of  the  officials 
whom  he  had  met  as  a  compliment  to  his  special  creden- 
tials and  a  desire  to  stand  well  with  the  English  authorities. 

Asked  about  the  prisoner  Forsyth,  the  governor  had  no 
particulars  to  give  except  to  indicate  tlie  band  of  which 
he  was  a  member  and  the  name  of  the  commander.     He- 
did  not  remember  iiaving  seen  or  noticed  Forsyth.     There 
had  of  late  been  a  great  many  prisoners  passing  through 


£y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  377 

Moscow  on  their  way  to  Siberia,  for  there  had  recently 
been  very  serious  risings  and  plots  against  the  Govern- 
ment ;  but  he  thought  it  possible  that  if  Chetwynd  traveled 
with  reasonable  speed  he  might  overtake  Captain  Kara- 
kazov  and  his  command  on  this  side  of  the  Siberian 
frontier ;  certainly  within  a  few  days  of  its  crossing  the 
line.  As  a  rule  the  journey  was  commenced  earlier  in  the 
year,  the  prisoners  passing  through  pleasant  summer  and 
autumn  weather.  It  might  be  that  the  difficulties  of  the 
latest  bands  of  travelers  would  be  somewhat  enhanced  by 
winter  snows ;  there  were  signs  of  severe  weather  coming 
upon  them  earlier  than  usual,  but  every  precaution  was 
taken  for  protecting  the  exiles,  and  if  they  had  hardships 
to  endure,  the  military  escort,  men  and  officers,  were  not 
exempt  from  atmospheric  influences.  This  hint  sufficed 
for  Dick  Chetwynd  to  decline  the  governor's  invitation  of 
hospitality  on  the  next  day. 

From  Moscow  Chetwynd  traveled  night  and  day  to 
Nijni  Novgorod,  where  he  halted  in  the  midst  of  the  latter 
days  of  the  great  autumn  fair,  which  under  other  circum- 
stances would  have  had  for  him  a  tremendous  attraction. 
There  is  nothing  like  Nijni  Novgorod  in  the  world.  In  a 
small  way  one  might  be  reminded  of  it  by  some  of  the 
seaside  resorts  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic,  where 
enormous  hotels,  giant  caravanserais,  are  occupied  during 
the  season  by  thousands  of  guests,  the  seashore  crowded 
with  summer  attractions  and  thronged  with  people  ;  where, 
i  during  the  winter,  not  a  soul  is  to  be  seen,  except  perhaps 
» one  or  two  guardians  of  the  vast  house  of  entertainment, 
and  a  few  wooden  huts  about  it,  all  silent  as  the  dead. 

This  is  Nijni  Novgorod  during  half  the  year.  It  is  a 
vast  city  of  shops,  stores,  houses,  hotels,  churches,  wide 
broad  streets,  fine  showy  buildings,  boulevards,  theatres, 
market  places,  bazaars  ;  but  in  the  early  summer  months 
entirely  deserted;    shops  barred   and    bolted,   markets 


.37^  ^y  ORt>Ek  £)/*  THE  CZAR, 

closed,  churches  locked  up,  the  whole  a  city  of  the  dead, 
to  be  awakened  as  it  was  when  Chetwynd  passed  through 
its  busy  thoroughfares,  during  the  month  of  August,  by 
five  hundred  thousand  traders  from  all  parts  of  Russia, 
brouglit  thither  by  rail  from  St.  Petersburg  and  the  Bal- 
kans, by  canal  from  the  White  Sea,  by  the  Oker  and  on  the 
broad  bosom  of  the  mighty  Volga. 

Ciictwynd  was  compelled  to  remain  here  a  day  and 
night,  part  of  which  time  he  occupied  in  writing  letters 
home,  in  completing  his  outfit,  and  arranging  his  method 
of  travel. 

In  the  evening,  with  thoughts  far  away,  he  smoked  a 
cigarette,  and  listened  to  the  military  bands  playing  oper- 
atic airs  opposite  the  governor's  house,  and  watching  the 
busy  crowd  passing  to  and  fro  over  the  pontoon  bridge 
which  connects  the  lower  and  upper  towns. 

The  music,  which  appeared  to  give  great  pleasure  to 
the  crowd  and  to  the  officers  lounging  about  the  gover- 
nor's house,  smoking  cigarettes  and  receiving  with  much 
condescension  the  evident  admiration  of  the  crowd,  was 
not  a  little  painful  to  Dick.  It  was  a  selection  from  "  Car- 
men," the  opera  at  which  Philip  Forsyth  had  first  seen 
the  face  which  had  brought  him  and  his  friends  so  much 
misery  and  distress. 

During  the  next  few  days  our  English  traveler  in  search 
of  his  friend  was  steaming  down  the  Volga  and  up  the 
Kama  in  one  of  the  vessels  that  run  between  the  Great 
Fair  city  and  Persia,  where  Mr.  George  Kennan,  the 
American  author,  had  his  first  skirmish  with  the  Russian 
police,  and  whose  descriptions  of  Russian  peasant  life  will 
fio  doubt  prove  to  be  one  of  the  most  interesting  and 
important  revelations  in  the  modern  literature  of  Russian 
travel  and  political  debate. 

Dick  Chetwynd  found  his  credentials  and  authoritative 
orders  from  St.  Petersburg  and  Moscow  a  talisman  that 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  379 

opened  all  gates  and  ways  before  him,  and  the  morning 
after  his  arrival  in  the  city  on  the  Kama  he  was  once  more 
en  route,  this  time  by  the  Ural  Mountains  railroad,  for 
Ekaterinburg. 

Two  days  of  travel  brought  him  to  the  station  near  the 
summit  of  the  mountains.  The  weather  was  cold  ;  there 
had  been  heavy  frosts  in  the  hills,  the  faded  foliage  was 
beginning  to  shrivel  and  fall.  The  scenery  was  wild  and 
impressive,  suggesting  Switzerland  and  the  Alleghany 
Mountains,  the  country  dotted  here  and  there  with  mining 
camps  and  villages  that  might  have  belonged  to  the  early 
settlements  of  Canada  and  the  United  States.  The  rail- 
way was  a  remarkable  work  of  engineering,  and,  while 
Dick  was  loath  to  leave  it  at  Ekaterinburg  for  the  wilder 
and  more  difficult  country  beyond,  he  was  nevertheless 
satisfied  to  have  reached  the  point  where  his  journey  must 
be  continued  by  road. 

At  this  last  railway  station  on  the  Ural  slope  he  had 
information  of  a  band  of  exiles  who  had  passed  through 
the  city  of  Ekaterinburg  at  about  the  time  mentioned  by 
the  prison  governor  at  Moscow. 

Dick  was  now  some  hundred  and  fifty  miles  from  the 
Siberian  frontier,  and  on  a  certain  calculation  with  a  local 
official  he  was  informed  that  it  might  be  quite  possible  to 
overtake  Captain  Karakazov  before  he  reached  the 
boundary. 

While  the  distance  from  Ekaterinburg  had  to  be  covered 
by  a  public  vehicle,  well  horsed,  but  traveling  over  diffi- 
'  cult  roads,  its  progress  was  very  rapid  compared  with  the 
slow  march  of  the  fettered  prisoners.  The  journey  was 
relieved  at  various  posts  on  the  way,  where  horses  were 
changed,  the  rate  of  traveling  being  at  about  eight  miles 
an  hour ;  the  inn  accommodation  at  night  rough  as  it 
could  be,  but  not  inhospitable,  and  Dick  found  com- 
panions who  were  civil,  but  with  whom  he  could  hold  little 


3)?b  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAk. 

conversation  in  the  only  language  they  knew.  They  re- 
lieved the  way  with  much  drinking  of  tea  and  smoking  of 
strong  tobacco,  and  Dick  continually  bent  his  eyes  for- 
ward and  used  his  field-glasses  frequently  in  the  hope  of 
catching  a  glimpse  of  the  miserable  travelers  ahead.  On 
the  second  day,  and  towards  evening,  after  leaving  Eka- 
terinburg, the  driver,  with  a  cry  of  "  Vot  granista  !  "  pulled 
up  his  horses. 

The  weather  had  turned  bitterly  cold,  and  the  snow  was 
falling. 

Dick,  muffled  up  in  his  fur  cloak,  had  fallen  asleep  for 
the  first  time  during  many  hours,  in  the  furthermost  cor- 
ner of  the  great  boat-shaped,  four-wheeled  carriage,  which 
for  some  time  had  been  carefully  hooded  and  covered  by 
way  of  protection  from  the  weather. 

Starting  up,  he  found  his  fellow-passengers  alighting 
and  repeating  the  two  words  of  the  driver,  "  Vot  granista." 
(Here's  the  boundary.) 

They  were  in  a  forest  clearing. 

Before  them,  by  the  roadside,  stood  a  tall  pillar,  and 
round  about  it  a  strange  weird  group  of  men  and  women, 
soldiers  on  foot  and  mounted  Cossacks,  their  spears  bright 
amidst  light  feathery  flakes  of  falling  snow,  which  was 
transforming  the  surrounding  country  into  a  white  world. 

They  had  arrived  at  the  boundary  post  of  Siberia,  a 
square  pillar,  ten  or  twelve  feet  in  height,  of  stuccoed  or 
plastered  brick,  bearing  on  one  side  the  coat  of  arms  of 
the  European  province  of  Perm,  and  on  the  other  the 
Asiatic  province  of  Tobolsk.  "  No  other  spot  between  St. 
Petersburg  and  the  Pacific,"  says  Mr.  George  Kennan, 
whose  current  work  I  have  already  mentioned,  "  is  more 
full  of  painful  suggestions,  and  none  has  for  the  traveler  a 
more  melancholy  interest  than  the  little  opening  in  the 
forest  where  stands  this  grief-consecrated  pillar.  Here 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  exiled  human  beings— men, 


BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  381 

women  and  children  ;  princes,  nobles,  and  peasants — have 
bidden  good-bye  for  ever  to  friends,  country  and  home. 
No  other  boundary  post  in  the  world  has  witnessed  so 
much  human  suffering  or  been  passed  by  such  a  multitude 
of  heart-broken  people.  More  than  one  hundred  and 
seventy  thousand  exiles  have  traveled  this  road  since 
1878,  and  more  than  half  a  million  since  the  beginning 
of  the  present  century.  As  the  boundary  post  is  situated 
about  half-way  between  the  last  European  and  the  first 
Siberian  6tape,  it  has  always  been  customary  to  allow  exile 
parties  to  stop  here  for  rest  and  for  a  last  good-bye  to  home 
and  country.  The  Russian  peasant,  even  when  a  criminal,  is 
deeply  attached  to  his  native  land;  and  heart-rending  scenes 
have  been  witnessed  around  the  boundary  pillar  when  such 
a  party,  overtaken  perhaps  by  frost  and  snow  in  the  early 
autumn,  stopped  here  for  a  last  farewell.  Some  gave  way 
to  unrestrained  grief;  some  comforted  the  weeping;  some 
knelt  and  pressed  their  faces  to  the  loved  soil  of  their 
native  country,  and  collected  a  little  earth  to  take  with 
th?m  into  exile;  and  a  few  pressed  their  lips  to  the 
European  side  of  the  cold  brick  pillar,  as  if  kissing  good- 
bye for  ever  to  all  that  it  sympolized.  At  last  the  stern 
order  *  Stroisa  ! '  (form  ranks)  from  the  under  officer  of 
the  convoy  put  an  end  to  the  rest  and  the  leave-taking, 
and  at  the  word  "  March  ! "  the  grey-coated  troop  of  exiles 
and  convicts  crossed  themselves  hastily  all  together,  and, 
with  a  confused  jingling  of  chains  and  leg-fetters,  moved 
slowly  away,  past  the  boundary  post,  into  Siberia." 

As  Dick  Chetwynd  tumbled  out  of  the  tarantas,  and 
pressed  forward  towards  the  exiles,  the  stern  order  "  Form 
ranks !  "  and  the  following  word  "  March  !  "  wer#  given, 
and  the  prisoners  prepared  to  resume  their  weary  and  heart- 
breaking journey. 

"  Captain  Karakazov  ?  "  exclaimed  Dick  Chetwynd  at  a  • 
venture,  hardly  daring  to  think  that  he  had  overtaken  thq 


jJf  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

band  he  was  following,  but  with  a  desperate  hope  that  it 
might  be  so. 

Whether  he  had  not  spoken  loud  enough  to  command 
attention  amidst  the  clanking  of  chains  and  the  miscella- 
neous orders  and  exclamations,  his  excited  interrogatory- 
passed  unheeded. 

*'  Is  this  Captain  Karakazov's  command  ?  "  he  shouted 
in  French. 

No  reply ;  but  there  was  a  movement  in  the  ranks  which 
attracted  his  attention. 

"  Captain  Karakazov  !  "  he  shouted  again  at  the  top  of 
his  voice,  his  fellow-passengers  now  regarding  him  with 
both  surprise  and  alarm.  An  officer  who  had  been  busy 
receiving  the  reports  of  some  subordinate  turned  som'^what 
angrily  towards  him. 

"  I  am  Captain  Karakazov,"  he  said.  "  What  is  your 
business,  sir,  with  me  ?  " 

"  Thank  God  !  "  exclaimed  Dick.  "  You  have  a  prisoner, 
Philip  Forsyth,"  at  which  moment  one  of  the  exiles  fell 
forward  from  a  group  and  was  caught  with  difficulty,  but 
with  great  solicitude,  in  the  arms  of  a  woman,  who,  turning 
towards  Chetwynd  and  the  officer,  disclosed  to  the  English 
traveler  the  weird  face  of  the  woman  in  the  Gold  ^ledal 
picture,  the  scene  of  which  flashed  upon  Dick  with  a 
strange  terrible  realization  ;  the  winter  background  of 
lurid  light,  the  snow,  the  bearded  prisoners,  the  hooded 
woman,  the  mounted  guard,  the  thoughtful  student,  the 
woman  at  bay.  Before  the  officer  in  command  had  time 
to  say  another  word,  Dick  Chetwynd  was  on  his  knees  by 
the  side  of  Philip  Forsyth. 

"  Great  God  !  "  he  exclaimed,  whispering  into  the  ear  of 
the  woman,  "the  Countess  Stravensky." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  tearful  light  in  her  great  violet 
eyes,  and  placed  a  finger  upon  her  lips,  with  a  gentle  sibil- 
lant  "  Hush  ! " 


£Y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  383 

Philip  Forsyth,  weary  with  travel  and  attacked  with 
fever,  had  fainted,  and  his  strange  dreamy  forecast  of  the 
two  figures  in  that  sketch  which  still  lay  upon  the  easel 
near  Primrose  Hill  was  realized,  with  this  exception,  that 
strong  hands  were  near  to  protect  and  rescue  him. 

Dick  Chetwynd  had  hardly  put  his  am.  round  his  friend 
than  he  was  roughly  dragged  into  the  roadway  and  literally 
flung  at  the  feet  of  Captain  Karakazov,  who  saluted  him 
with  some  coarse  words  in  Russian.  The  next  moment, 
Dick,  on  his  feet,  glaring  at  the  officer,  hurled  at  him  a  few 
equally  strong  expletives  in  English.  Both  having  thus 
somewhat  soothed  their  angry  agitation,  Dick,  in  French, 
said  : — 

"Sir,  I  have  orders  for  you  from  the  Minister  of  War  at 
St.  Petersburg,  and  a  cipher  also  from  His  Imperial 
Majesty  of  still  more  importance." 

"  Permit  me  to  see  them,"  said  the  officer. 

While  they  spoke  the  evening  was  rapidly  changing  into 
night.  A  lantern  was  brought,  in  the  gleam  of  which  Dick 
Chetwynd  showed  his  authoritative  writings  to  Captaia 
Karakazov. 

"  They  are  sufficient,"  said  the  officer,  "  and  I  beg  you 
will  accept  my  apologies." 

"  If  these  orders  are  promptly  carried  out  I  assuredly 
will  ;  otherwise " 

**  The  orders  will  of  course  be  promptly  obeyed,"  reading 
the  St.  Petersburg  instructions,  and  laying  emphasis  on 
the  words.  "  The  unconditional  release  of  the  prisoner, 
Philip  Forsyth." 

••  By  order  of  the  Czar,"  said  Chetwynd  somewhat 
theatrically,  quite  contrary  to  his  usual  habit  and  manner, 
but  inspired  by  the  surroundings,  angered  by  his  rough 
usage,  and  anxious  to  emphasize  to  the  fierce  young 
Russian,  by  whose,  orders  he  had  been  assaulted,  the 
tremendous  Imperial  authority  against  which  he  leaned  hiy 


3i4  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

Stiff  English  back. 

Two  subordinate  officials  were  detailed  to  the  service  of 
the  English  traveler.  t 

They  carried  Philip  Forsyth,  with  nis  chains  and  long 
grey  cloak,  insensible  as  he  was,  and  placed  him  inside  the 
Russian  carriage. 

Dick  gave  the  driver  a  handful  of  roubles,  begging  him 
to  hurry  on  to  the  nearest  post,  which  fortunately  was 
within  a  short  distance. 

Anna  Klosstock  parted  with  her  companion  without 
disclosing  any  more  emotion  than  was  concentrated  into 
her  grip  of  Dick  Chetwynd's  hand.  It  was  from  the  eyes 
of  the  stolid  Englishman  that  the  tears  streamed,  not  from 
those  of  the  suffering  martyr,  Anna  Klosstock. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

AN  OLD   MAN   AND   HIS   DAUGHTER. 

Travelers  who  know  Siberia  cind  readers  who  have 
studied  the  literature  of  the  subject  need  not  be  told  that 
it  is  not  always  winter  in  ihat  vast  region  of  the  Russian 
Empire,,  v/hich  is  larger  thaa  Europe,  and  has  nearly  as 
much  variety  of  climate.  If  this  last  claim,  however,  be 
somewiiat  exaggerative,  it  must  at  xeast  be  confessed  that 
there  are  ir.icts  of  Siberia  which  ca-  boast  of  flowers  and 
gardens,  song-birds,  butterflies,  clear  streams,  pleasant 
lakes,  and  fertile  valleys.  A  great  portion  of  the  country 
in  the  provinces  of  Tobolsk  and  Tomsk,  ana  including  the 
steppes  of  Baraba  and  Ishim,  are  of  rare  fertility ;  they 
are,  indeed,  the  granaries  of  Russia.  The  valley  of  the 
Yenesei,  in  Western  Siberia,  north  of  the  Sayansk  Moun- 
tains, is  not  unworthy  in  its  suhimer  months  to  be  com- 
pared with  the  valley  of  the  Severn  in  England. 


S  Y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  385 

Consult  your  Encyclopedia  and  you  will  find  that  the 
majority  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  central  provinces  of 
Siberia  are  Russians  and  Poles,  who  have  been  sent  thither 
either  as  political  or  criminal  exiles ;  leavened  somewhat 
by  a  respectable  minority  of  colonists.  The  worst  type  of 
criminals  and  the  prisoners  who  have  given  most  offence 
to  the  reigning  powers  in  the  fierce  political  conspiracies, 
are  condemned  to  hard  labor  in  the  mines ;  others  are 
detailed  for  work  of  a  less  fatal  character ;  and  there  is  a 
third  degree  of  punishment  which  gives  to  the  political 
exile  a  large  amount  of  freedom,  in  which  many  live  more 
or  less  contentedly,  with  wives  and  families,  and  occasion- 
ally even  preferring  such  limited  freedom  to  a  return  to 
their  former  homes.  They  are  relegated  to  specific  districts 
under  the  surveillance  of  the  police,  but  are  permitted  to 
employ  themselves  how  they  please.  Some  of  these  have 
entered  upon  their  new  life  with  their  household  goods, 
accompanied  from  Moscow  by  their  wives.  Many  pathetic 
stories  that  are  honorable  to  our  humanity  are  told  of 
lovely  women  thus  sacrificing  themselves  on  the  altar  of 
their  loves,  even  marrying  for  the  sake  of  such  feminine 
martyrdom. 

The  general  impression  of  the  reader  who  has  dwelt 
upon  the  gentle  romance  of  Madame  Cottin's  "  Elizabeth," 
is  that  around  the  heroine's  humble  home  in  the  province 
of  Ishim,  the  world  was  dark  and  dreary,  and  had  but  one 
sad  tale  of  snow  and  chilly  landscape,  forgetting  the  author's 
description  of  the  four  months  of  summer  that  reigned 
even  there  with  the  perfumed  blossoms  of  the  birch-tree, 
which  the  exiles  cultivated  in  their  little  garden  ;  the  play- 
ful flocks  of  wild-fowl  on  the  lake  ;  the  genial  character  of 
the  air ;  the  pleasant  sunshine.  It  is  true  these  delights 
were  only  enjoyed  to  the  full  by  the  natives  of  the  country, 
the  exiles  still  r.'ghing  for  their  liberty  and  the  sight  of  old 

friends,     Elizabeth,  in  the  well-known  story,  at  last  found 

20  ' 


386  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

a  merciiul  Czar,  and  this  present  history  is  not  all  one  long 
record  of  Imperial  tyranny,  though  the  mercy  found  for 
the  exile  of  Tobolsk,  and  the  interposition  of  the  direct 
Imperial  power  which  marked  the  closing  days  of  Anna 
Klosstock  and  her  father,  not  to  mention  the  release  of 
Philip  Forsyth,  are  romantic  exceptions  to  the  general  out- 
come of  those  official  **  orders  of  the  Czar,"  which  fill  the 
bleakest  spots  of  the  Siberian  world  with  weeping  and  wail- 
ing and  gnashing  of  teeth. 

There  are  instances  of  exiles,  as  I  have  said,  preferring 
to  remain  in  the  favored  category  of  relaxed  Siberian  dis- 
cipline, wretched  men  and  women  who  have  outlived  their 
friends,  and  who  no  longer  feel  that  they  possess  the 
capacity  to  begin  the  new  life  that  is  offered  to  them. 
Possibly  these  cases  are  few  and  far  between,  but  thousands 
of  exiles,  after  their  term  of  detection  has  ceased,  continue 
in  the  country,  becoming  farmers,  traders,  trappers,  and 
following  the  occupations  from  which  they  had  been  car- 
ried off  by  the  strong  and  loo  often  secret  arm  of  the  law. 

Johannes  Klosstock  had  for  some  years  been  pern*  Ued 
the  highest  privileges  allowed  to  the  exile ;  and  he  had 
accepted  the  relief  with  the  same  religious  resignation  that 
had  entered  his  soul  from  the  first.  He  had  long  since 
ceased  to  suffer.  The  past  had  become  to  him  a  dream. 
Happy  Czarovna  was  still  his  world.  He  walked  out  in 
summer  days  and  saw  Anna  his  wife.  He  sat  by  the  stove 
in  winter  and  talked  with  Losinski  and  the  famous  Italian 
traveler  Ferrari.  Once  in  a  way  there  would  come  to  him 
disturbing  glimmerings  of  the  bitter  change  that  had  left 
him  all  alone  with  only  his  dream.  But  he  was  a  religious 
man ;  he  bowed  his  head  and  prayed,  and  looked  forward 
to  the  coming  of  the  Messiah,  and  to  the  reality  of  a 
reunion  of  wife  and  child. 

One  summer  afternoon,  sitting  at  the  door  of  his  simple 
hut,  where  he  was  permitted  to  have  the  attC0<3lancc  of  ?^n 


BV  ORDER  OF  THE   CZAR.  ^87 

old  Polish  housekeeper,  who  was  devoted  to  the  old  man, 
he  saw  the  apparition  of  his  daughter  Anna.  She  came 
out  of  the  distant  woodland,  crossed  the  rough  bnu^"* 
which  spanned  the  stream,  a  tributary  of  the  great  lake ; 
then  pausing,  she  turned  towards  the  cottage.  The  old 
man  smiled.  The  summer  sunshine  fell  upon  the  much- 
loved  figure  in  what  he  conceived  to  be  his  happy  dream. 
"  My  dear,  dear  Anna,"  he  said  ;  and  the  woman  came  on, 
flowers  in  her  path,  peace  in  her  heart.  She  was  no  imagin- 
ary Anna  walking  in  the  silent  land  of  the  father's  tender 
fancy  ;  she  paused  at  the  primitive  gate  that  finished  the 
rough  fencing  of  the  tiny  garden,  and  saw  her  father. 
There  was  no  demonstration  on  the  part  of  either  of  them. 
Anna  was  dressed  very  much  in  the  fashion  of  her  early 
day.  Her  face  was  pale  ;  but  the  old  light  had  come  into 
her  eyes.  Her  red-gold  hair  showed  streaks  of  grey  ;  but 
her  step  was  light,  and  her  voice  sweet  and  musical.  When 
she  entered  the  garden  the  old  man  rose  to  his  feet.  He 
passed  his  hands  over  his  eyes,  then  stretched  out  his  arms. 
"■  Father,"  said  the  well-known  voice.  "  Anna,"  was  the 
only  response,  and  the  old  Polish  woman  found  them 
locked  in  each  other's  arms. 

In  the  closing  days  of  this  history  Anna  Klosstock  and 
her  father  are  removing  to  the  pleasanter  country  between 
the  post  stations  of  Ceremishkaya  and  Sugatskaya,  which 
Mr.  Kennon  has  described  as  a  rich  open  farming  region, 
resembling  that  portion  of  New  York  which  lies  between 
Rochester  and  Buffalo ;  and  which  may  therefore  on  our 
side  of  the  Atlantic  be  fairly  likened  to  the  wolds  of  Lincoln- 
shire or  the  wealds  of  Kent,  without,  however,  the  beautiful 
hedgerow  characteristics  of  the  old  country.  The  means 
of  the  Countess  Stravensky,  despite  the  disappearance  of 
their  owner,  had  in  a  great  measure  found  their  way  into 
the  hands  of  Anna  Klosstock,  and  her  father  had  received 
valuable  assistance  from  his  banking  friends  of  Moscow 


388  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR, 

and  St.  Petersburg ;  so  that  here  in  the  heart  of  the  most 
fertile  of  the  Siberian  country,  father  and  daughter  will  end 
their  days  together,  with  ample  money  for  all  their  wants, 
and  sufficient  for  acts  of  charity  and  benevolence.  This 
very  winter  Philip  Forsyth  has  learned,  through  private 
sources  of  information  organized  by  Dick  Chetwynd,  that 
the  Klosstocks  had  purchased  a  homestea|l  near  Sugats- 
kaya,  which  many  a  wealthy  Russian  might  envy  ;  that  the 
old  man,  still  dreamy  in  his  manner  and  often  wrapped  in 
reflection,  nevertheless  realized  the  happiness  that  had 
come  to  him  in  his  latter  days  ;  and  knew  how  great  it  was 
in  contrast  with  what  he  had  suffered  in  the  first  days  of 
his  exile  ;  while  Anna  only  lived  to  give  him  pleasure,  and 
make  her  peace  with  heaven. 


CHAPTER  L. 

THE  GOLD  MEDAL. 

The  picture  is  finished  :  the  gold  medal  has  been  awarded ; 
and  "  Tragedy  "  is  the  artistic  sensation  of  the  latest  Royal 
Academy  exhibition.  The  barrier  and  the  policeman  have 
once  more  appeared  in  the  central  gallery  of  Burlington 
House. 

Not  alone  for  its  exceptional  merit  is  Philip  Forsyth's 
"  Road  to  Siberia  "  the  talk  of  the  art  world.  Something 
of  the  romance  associated  with  it  has  leaked  out.  The 
busy  gossips  of  the  society  papers  have  told  its  story  in 
many  and  various  ways.  The  facile  pen  of  The  Jenkins 
of  the  Review^  whom  we  have  met  at  Lady  Forsyth's 
receptions,  had,  however,  penetrated  some  of  the  darkest 
shadows  of  the  mystery.  By  no  means  correct  in  its 
details,  the  Review  had  graphically  suggested  the  cour- 
ageous and  friendly  journey  of  rescue  which  had  been  per- 
formed by  Dick  Chetwynd;  the  telegram  of  the  Britisii 


£Y  ORDER  OF  THE   CZAR.  ^ 

Consul  at  St.  Petersburg ;  Dick's  surprise  on  its  receipt, 
his  hurried  councils  with  Philip's  mother  and  friends,  and 
his  prompt  expedition  to  Siberia  were  told  with  journalistic 
effect.  Dxk's  kindly  reception  at  the  hands  of  the  Russian 
officials,  ih  '^  usefulness  of  his  early  experiences  as  a  war 
correspondent  in  expediting  his  march,  his  adventures  by 
land  and  river,  and  the  scene  by  the  tragic  frontier  pillar 
were  quoted  in  all  the  journals,  and  eagerly  devoured  by 
the  public.  But  Jenkins  secundus  was  altogether  at  fault 
when  he  endeavored  to  indicate  the  part  which  the  Countess 
Stravensky  had  played  in  this  extraordinary  drama. 

The  mystery  of  the  story  indeed  was  untouched.  The 
Countess  Stravensky  had  disappeared  as  completely  as  if 
she  had  never  existed.  Neither  the  police  nor  Dick  Chet- 
wynd  had  solved  the  Stravensky  problem,  and  Philip 
Forsyth  kept  his  own  counsel  in  regard  to  that  notable 
person — kept  it  with  a  dogged  silence  that  no  one  could 
weaken.  The  young  artist  had  come  home  again  entirely 
changed  in  manners  and  habit,  and  strangely  altered  in 
appearance.  Pale,  thoughtful,  and  with  the  strongest 
tendency  to  look  upon  the  ground,  Philip  now  appeared  to 
live  in  a  world  of  his  own ;  and,  happily  for  himself  and 
for  Art,  he  devoted  himself  with  a  calm  intensity  to  his 
work.  Back  again  at  the  studio  beyond  Primrose  Hill,  he 
lived  there  for  days  together  without  making  his  appearance 
at  his  mother's,  or  visiting  the  Chetwynd  household.  On 
quiet  evenings  he  might  be  seen  strolling  over  the  Hill,  or 
smoking  a  cigar  upon  one  of  its  highest  seats.  As  a  rule, 
he  began  work  with  daylight,  and  only  laid  down  his 
brushes  at  the  approach  of  night.  His  models  were  queer, 
people,  mostly  selected  from  foreign  emigrants  and  Eastern 
sailors  at  the  London  Docks.  For  months  his  only  recre- 
ation appeared  to  be  in  continual  visits  to  the  Port  of 
London.  He  made  sketches  of  the  Jewish  refugees  from 
Russian   Poland  and    other  districts,   and    occasionally 


990  BV  OJiDEJt  OF  THE  CZAR. 

brought  his  models  straight  to  his  studio,  lodging  them 
close  by  j  finding  vent  for  his  feelings  and  direction  for  his 
art  in  subjects  of  modern  Russian  history,  not  painted  with 
ostentatious  political  point,  as  might  have  been  expected 
from  his  somewhat  fanatical  impulse,  but  with  a  diathetic 
fervor  that  permitted  a  margin  even  for  the  tremendous 
difficulties  that  belong  to  the  Russian  political  situation. 
These  studies,  however,  represent  pictures  yet  to  come ; 
and  it  is  not  within  the  space  of  this  present  chronicle  to 
do  more  than  forecast  the  future  of  Philip  Forsyth  from 
the  standpoint  of  his  remarkable  work,  '*  The  Road  to 
Siberia,"  which  has  sufficiently  impressed  the  fathers  of  the 
Royal  Academy  to  secure  for  its  painter  the  first  step  to 
honors  which  he  neither  desires  nor  resents. 

Once  in  a  way  he  will  stroll  into  the  Arts  Club,  or  the 
Hogarth,  of  an  evening,  and  take  a  quiet,  sober  part  in 
the  social  life  of  these  pleasant  establishments.  Occa- 
sionally throwing  off  the  shadow  which  has  fallen  upon  his 
young  life,  there  is  no  as.sumption  of  undue  thoughtfulness 
or  gloomy  manner;  it  is  quite  natural  to  him,  and  is 
accompanied  with  a  certain  unconsciousness  of  singularity 
which  disarms  the  personal  affront  of  unsympathetic 
criticism.  He  has  rivals  in  his  art,  and  critics  in  the  press 
entirely  ignorant  of  his  antecedents,  who  credit  him  with 
intentional  airs  of  eccentricity,  and  characterize  both  his 
manner  and  his  work  as  commercial  and  shoppy.  But 
Philip  has  suffered,  and  is  strong,  and  once  a  week  when 
he  goes  to  his  mother's  to  spend  Sunday  and  accompany 
her  to  the  little  Catholic  chapel  round  the  corner,  Lady 
.Forsyth  finds  a  new  pleasure  and  satisfaction  in  his  com- 
panionship, which  is  restful,  quiet,  non-argumentative, 
and  affectionate.  He  has  a  wholesome  sympathy  for  the 
suffering,  and  even  in  his  criticisms  of  the  Russian  rule, 
there  is  an  appreciative  sentiment  of  the  obstacles  which 


Jjy  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR.  391 

block  the  way  of  even  the  most  charitable  of  Muscovite 
monarchs. 

The  diplomatic  skillfulness  and  pleasant  geniality  of 
Walter  Milbanke  brought  to  bear  upon  the  amiable  and 
happy  nature  of  Sam  Swynford  through  the  medium  of 
Dick  Chetwynd,  have  brought  about  a  complete  recon- 
ciliation between  the  Forsyths  and  the  merry  sisters. 
It  is  satisfactory  to  be  able  still  to  give  them  that  familiar 
title,  the  merry  sisters. 

Sam  and  Dolly,  at  the  suggestion  of  clever  Mrs.  Mil- 
banke, have  made  their  home  in  the  best  part  of 
the  fashionable  regions  of  Kensington.  The  fortunate 
young  stockbroker,  lucky  in  his  marriage  as  in  his  finan- 
cial speculations,  had  been  able  to  give  to  Dolly  all  her 
heart  could  desire,  and  at  the  same  time  to  provide  Mrs. 
Milbanke  with  a  house  of  call  not  less  luxurious  and 
comfortable  than  her  own.  It  is  quite  possible  that  under 
the  influence  rather  of  Mrs.  Milbanke's  ambition  than  the 
desire  of  her  sister  Dolly,  Mr.  Swinford  may  yet  be  heard 
of  in  the  great  legislative  council  of  the  nation  ;  not  that 
he  cares  for  public  honors,  but  he  has  made  sufiicient 
money  to  command  the  attention  of  one  of  the  great  parties 
in  the  City,  is  popular  wherever  he  goes,  has  already 
refused  a  sea  in  the  County  Council,  has  been  elected  a 
member  of  one  of  the  great  party  clubs.  He  and  his  wife 
are  on  the  reception  list  of  the  Prime  Minister's  discreet 
and  accomplished  wife;  and  his  coach  at  the  last  Hyde 
Park  Corner  meeting  was  the  best  appointed  of  the  day, 
and  certainly  carried  two  of  the  most  attractive  women  of 
the  season,  Mrs.  Swinford  and  Mrs.  Milbanke,  the  wife  of 
the  well-known  conveyancing  solicitor. 

They  met  Philip  Fovsyth  for  the  first  time  sijice  their 
marriage  at  a  quiet  little  dinner  given  by  Lady  Forsyth  at 
Richmond.  Philip  was:  inclined  to  be  somewhat  bashful 
at  the  outset,  but  was  speedily  placed  at  his  ease  by  the 


39*  ^y  ORDER  OF  THE  CZAR. 

wise  discretion  of  Mrs.  Milbanke,  the  pleasant  lively  con- 
versation of  Walter,  and  the  rare  capacity  of  Djlly  Swi»i- 
ford  for  talking  about  everything  that  was  far  away  from 
Philip's  thoughts,  and  her  charming  facility  for  translating 
pleasant  ideas  into  music.  She  played  and  sang  divinely 
snatches  of  this  opera  and  the  other,  never  for  one  mo- 
ment dropping  into  any  suggestion  of  "  Carmen,"  and 
always  keeping  clear  of  anything  calculated  to  stir  the 
emotions.  It  was  altogether  on  one  side  a  most  agreeable 
plot  to  make  Philip  ignore  anything  in  the  past  that  could 
unpleasantly  influence  the  present,  and  he  and  his  mother 
were  sympathetically  receptive  of  these  pleasant  efforts  of 
social  friendship. 

With  all  his  influence  Dick  Chetwynd  has  not  been 
able  to  learn  anything  of  the  fate  of  Ferrari,  Petroski,  and 
the  President  of  the  meeting  at  the  French  Cabaret  in 
Soho.  The  Italian  and  his  comrades  must  therefore  pass 
out  of  this  history  as  many  other  men  in  Russia  have 
passed  out  of  all  knowledge  of  their  friends  and  associates, 
some  to  die  lingering  deaths  in  stifling  prisons,  others  to 
grow  grey  in  Siberian  wilds.  It  may,  however,  be  said 
for  Ferrari  and  his  comrades  of  the  Brotherhood  that  they 
were  always  prepared  for  the  martyrdom  which  they  knew 
they  might  at  any  moment  be  called  upon  to  endure. 
Moreover,  Ferrari,  if  he  had  not  lived  to  realize  his  best 
hopes,  had  at  least  enjoyed  the  sweets  of  revenge  on  most 
of  his  personal  enemies.  Whether  his  passion  was  a 
righteous  one  or  not,  it  was  the  chief  motor  of  his  life, 
sanctified  in  his  mind  by  the  name  of  patriotism.  So  let 
the  memory  of  him  be  kept  green  at  least  for  his  courage 
and  devotion  to  the  unhappy  Queen  of  the  Ghetto. 

THE    END. 


9t 


